


The Coiners' Paper Trail

by oliversnape



Series: Coiners [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 63,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliversnape/pseuds/oliversnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ministry needs to approve Severus Snape's application for him to start his life again after the war. Harry Potter has set himself up with a non-dangerous specialist muggle career. Neither have been particularly good at avoiding trouble for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slow-moving Snarry, post deathly hallows. I'm ignoring the bits of canon that I don't like. :)

_7:00 am, Room 1216B, 3rd Floor, Ministry of Magic. First week of application._

The letter arrives at the top of a pile in the top centre of the desk, it's middle slightly crumpled from the clutch of the owl's talons as it was delivered. A short and terse note, not unlike most of the requests that arrive to the office on a daily basis. An elderly wizard of average height and weight, wearing nondescript robes that would almost, but not quite, allow for assimilation amongst muggles, peers over the form. He holds it with chubby fingers, a spot of strawberry jam on his forefinger, and reads it through glasses that seem too thick and smudged to be useful. His eyes narrow at the signature, as he attempts to parse why he should recognize the name.

"Eh," the wizard grunts, choosing apathy. He places the form back down on his desk, slouching back into his creaky wooden desk chair. A stamp is unearthed from a stack of long-ignored memos, and the first scent of heavy ink wafts up as he opens the inkpad for the day.

In distraction, for he is reaching for his jam and butter scone at the same time, the wizard stamps the parchment upside down. It disappears from his desk, filing itself in a cabinet to his left, and causing a pre-packaged parcel of documents to address itself and prepare for mailing later that morning. The wizard spills tea down his front as he reaches for the next letter, and doesn't spare another thought to Severus Snape's request.

…

Harry flicked his umbrella open as he walked toward the bus stop, side-stepping to avoid a large puddle at the end of the path. London weather had been absolutely miserable as of late, and it seemed to have spread to the south of Wales as well. His newspaper was clenched in the hand holding the umbrella, and he skimmed a short article at the bottom of the _Daily Prophet's_ front page, about a house that had mysteriously exploded in the north of England. There was no mistaking the scowling shadow of a man standing in the photo, staring at the ruins of the house, and Harry wondered if the explosion had been caused by someone looking to take revenge on Snape. He made a mental note to ask Minerva that when she stopped by for tea later.

"Mr Potter!" a male voice yelled, and Harry turned his gaze back toward the imposing doors of the Royal Mint. A slim brown-haired man was making his way over, struggling to undo the clasp on a striped blue brolly.

"Fascinating paper you wrote, about the quill impressions. In this day and age, who would have thought someone would go back to using those!"

Harry smiled quietly and dug in his pocket for change as the bus rounded the corner. He pulled out the correct fare and glanced at the coins, checking them for odd marks or unevenness. All the man could see of the _Prophet_ was a blurred international newspaper, so Harry didn't bother hiding it.

"Sorry, I'm Dafydd," the man added, switching his bus pass around to shake Harry's hand.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, his tone friendly. "Sometimes it's easier to use old technology to trick younger machinery."

"I'll bet," Dafydd said, chuckling. "Nothing like making your job harder."

"It's all just a big puzzle for me," Harry explained, offering a grin. He stepped onto the bus and paid the driver, keeping his worn leather briefcase clutched in his hand. Cardiff was just under an hour away by bus, but Harry planned to exit along the way and apparate home. Llantrisant was far too small for him to just disappear from.

"So, off home to…?" Dafydd had followed Harry onto the bus and sat beside him.

"London," Harry supplied. The bus stuttered to life, cutting off a motorist as it pulled into the lane again.

"Ah, lovely town," Dafydd immediately offered. "Bit too expensive if you're on your own, I've found."

"I don't find it too bad," Harry shrugged, climbing onto the bus. He saw a satisfied and hopeful look on Dafydd's face, and for the life of him couldn't figure out why.

"Not if you keep getting work from us, I suppose," Dafydd said, flashing a smile at Harry.

Harry nodded and mumbled incoherently, pretending to be looking for something in his briefcase. Nineteen years old, dressed in a regular dark suit, with a scar on his forehead and a patch of scarred skin under his chin. The goblets from the Lestrange vaults had left many burn marks on him, but this was the most prominent. Listening to Dafydd chat amicably away, Harry wondered if he was just the kind of bloke destined to always attract attention, no matter how he looked.

…

_13:30, Cobb Knob Lane, second bar to the left and one-storey up._

A black owl sits impatiently on the wooden kitchen windowsill, the peeling paint crumbling under the strong grip of its talons. The window is partially closed, and the owl pecks irritably at it, eager to relieve itself of its burden.

The owl carries a thick parcel of papers, which include an eight-page application form, a ten-page booklet of instructions, three separate pamphlets, two advertisements, a business card, and an itemized list of costs.

Sensing no movement inside the dingy flat, and thus no guarantee of a treat for its efforts, the owl circles the building until it finds the bedroom window. It is not hard for a ten-pound bird to make a veritable racket against the thin glass pane, and the package is snatched from the bird's grip within moments. No owl treats are given, and the owl flies off in a huff, defecating in the general direction of the closing window.

…

With a high crash of thunder covering his arrival, Severus Snape apparated into an old blue police call box located at the back of Essex Road rail station. It was the closest apparition point to where he was headed, an address scribbled down onto a scrap of parchment the night before in an Ottery St-Catchpole pub. Snape walked swiftly through the few muggles that were loitering in the station, stopping at the glass door that led out to the street. Thunder broke across the sky again, and Snape's wand arm twitched as his eyes scanned the bus station. Muggles dressed in black and grey overcoats darted between awnings and shop entrances, moving about the rain driven mist in shrouds of shadowy black. Snape blinked forcibly, expelling the image of dementors and death eaters from the forefront of his mind.

A discarded copy of the _Times_ had been left on the window ledge, and Snape thumbed through it while he waited for the rain to lighten up, or at least stop driving horizontally. On the front of the paper was a photo of a grim-looking bloke from the London Met, boxed ears and a square face, under the caption 'PETTY VANADLISM: A PLAGUE ON LONDON.' Snape had no idea why the police were getting upset over something so insignificant as the destruction of metal bootscrapers fastened to the sides of buildings, but he had long ago come to the conclusion that muggles had odd priorities.

The station interior flashed like an old light bulb popping its filament, and Snape scowled. He hadn't brought an umbrella, and a wizard walking around unhampered by the rain in a downpour like this would draw unwanted attention. He cast a silent impervious spell at the newspaper and thrust it over his head as he left the station. He headed northwest on Canonbury road, reminding himself that the walk up to Hogwarts as a twenty-year-old disenchanted death eater had been much worse. The rain let up only slightly, battering at him and soaking his trousers from thighs-down as he walked, looking for Alwyne road. He was well aware that he looked out of place, with his high-necked frock coat and long sleeves in the middle of August, but Snape felt he would be exposing himself enough that evening, without needing to do so physically.

Snape approached a small park on his left, and noted several dark-clothed youths huddled around an unidentified bronze statue. Snape couldn't see what they were doing exactly, but one of them had a crowbar and they seemed to embrace the darkened skies that the storm brought. His hand drifted to his side, surreptitiously patting his pocket to ensure his wallet and the lotto ticket he'd purchased earlier were still there.

A car zoomed up beside him on the road, and Snape quickly side-stepped a puddle, barely missing the splash of dirty street water that the car kicked up.

He continued on his journey, cursing the damned English weather.

…

"The tea was lovely, Harry. But I must be getting back," Minerva McGonagall said, patting Harry's arm. She was wearing a lovely dark blue dress, in the same style as her green teaching ones, but made of lighter material. She looked fondly upon Harry as they wrapped up their teatime bonding, as she had ever since the war had ended more than a year earlier.

"August is busy at school then?" Harry asked, smiling.

"If you would accept my teaching offer, you would see exactly what goes on," Minerva replied, wrapping her rain cloak over her shoulders. She smirked at Harry's horrified face.

"I'd rather work with the goblins." He stood up from the kitchen table and moved hesitantly towards Minerva, watching her expertly fasten three tiny cloak buttons at her neck.

"Till Friday, Aunt Minerva?"

"As always," Minerva responded, giving him a quick hug. "You behave yourself, Harry Potter."

"As always," Harry parroted, waving as she apparated out of the kitchen and back to Hogsmeade. As she disappeared, Harry realised he'd forgotten to ask her about Snape and the house explosion. He shrugged his shoulders as he took their dishes to the sink. He always wrote Minerva on Tuesdays, with the details of his newest contract. She liked to read the details like a puzzle, and he'd just include his thoughts about Snape's misfortune with the next letter.

…

Snape double-checked the parchment folded up in his hand, carefully shielding it from the rain as he smoothed the creases. The address was correct, but nothing of what he saw in front of him matched what he imagined Potter's house to be like. Mind, it was a gloomy and grey London early evening, but for everything the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ had reported on The House That Potter Built, this wasn't it. Snape had actually followed the reporting on his least favourite student, having nothing else to do whilst recovering from the snake attack. He knew that Potter had caused a riff in Wizarding society by choosing to live in a muggle home and neighbourhood, and that Potter had skilfully declined every job offer thrust at him after the defeat of the Dark Lord.

Snape knew that Potter had adopted Lupin's baby shortly after the war, a move that had both surprised Snape and yet made sense to him as well. He knew that there was no romantic interest between Potter and the youngest Weasley, but that only rumours and speculations existed regarding Potter's love life. Snape knew that Potter worked a regular job in the muggle world, but that he was also comfortable enough financially not to need full time work. What Snape didn't know was if the headmaster had been correct, and if Harry Potter was capable of forgiving his caustic behaviour during the war, behaviour that hadn't fully been just a mask.

The house in front of him was a classic three-story townhouse, with several steps leading up to the crimson red front door, black wrought iron railings edging the walk, and two front-room windows with frosted glass obscuring the view inside. A sturdy maple tree, reaching just past the windows on the second floor, overshadowed the house and gave it an extra layer of privacy. The house looked inconspicuously muggle, but as Snape came closer to rapping on the door, he saw that Potter had taken a page out of the goblins' books. Two plaques were set into the wall, just above the door, and the top read:

_My family is one thing, my wrath another._

_Harm not the one, for fear of the other._

Underneath the warning was an engraved brass nameplate bearing the name _R.H. Potter_. It was done in an elegant serif font, nestled into the brick next to the window and unseen from the street. Snape studied it as he rapped on the door, wondering what the R stood for.

Snape took one last moment to ensure he was presentable, pulling his collar up to obscure the worst of Nagini's scarring, and rubbing the dull throb of pain that pulsed from the tattoo on his inner arm. It wouldn't do to look unprofessional Snape knew, and his teaching robes had always garnered respect from his peers. He rapped on the door, ignoring the neighbour to his left that was peeking through the curtains and staring at him.

Inside he could hear the very slight movement of someone approaching, but couldn't see anything through the large window or door.

He stood straight as the door opened, and was rather impressed at how well Harry Potter kept his surprise under control. This, however, was not the Harry Potter Snape remembered. Snape had envisioned a shorter Potter, in uniform and scowling over a cauldron in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Snape shifted his weight and his eyes flashed quickly once over, taking in the well-cut dress trousers, neatly tucked in dress shirt, combed hair, and stylish new glasses.

He remembered that Potter was barely nineteen, but this man looked to be in his late twenties.

"Snape," Potter finally said, hand still on the door. It had two stain-glass panels in the door, and Potter's fingers distorted as they tapped against them.

"Mr Potter," Snape acknowledged, withstanding the scrutiny he knew he was under. The last time he'd seen this boy up close, he'd been dying on a dirty shack floor. Snape tried to ignore Harry's glance to his neck.

"I wish to speak to you, preferably inside where it is dry," Snape said, only a slight sneer in his voice. Potter didn't move.

"About what?"

A flash of light struck overhead, and the thunder that followed came very fast.

"A business prospective requiring your assistance," Snape finally said, wanting to get out of the rain. Potter's eyes widened, but he at least stepped back to allow Snape entrance.

Potter said nothing, his eyes focused strongly on Snape's expression and body language. In the year away from school, Potter had appeared to have learned a few tricks about reading people. Parts of Potter's life, during his trial, had been made rather public with the newspapers, but even Snape had noticed that the amount of information garnered by the wizarding world press had been limited.

"Come in for a cuppa, then," Potter said, shutting the heavy door behind them in time with a crack of thunder.

…

Snape shamelessly let his eyes wander over the inside of the house as he was led through. The front door had opened into a little foyer, with stairs and a long hallway beyond. To his left was the living room with the frosted glass bay windows, and at the end of the hall seemed to be a galley kitchen. Dark wood flooring with thick baseboards surrounded the bright white interior, and even though Snape felt like he'd stepped back in time, the house gave off a very warm feeling. A good sign, considering the other reason he was visiting.

The kitchen was filled with the same dark wood and white walls, with splashes of colour in the paintings and photos on the wall. Potter busied himself with the kettle while Snape looked around, not saying a word. Snape saw that kitty corner to the living room and kitchen was a closed-off office, with a large desk and papers scattered throughout.

Snape gave a curious look to a stuffed monkey toy sitting on the counter, but kept his comments censored as he followed Potter down a few steps into the bright eating area. This was an addition to the house, spreading into the back garden and using large glass windows for three of the walls. The table here seemed to be more used, and there was a tiny pair of orange Wellies at the back door in the corner of the eating room, right under a bright blue toddler's rain jacket.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

Snape sat at the table and steeped his fingers, reminding himself that this Potter was not the same as his father, something he'd known since he'd first started teaching the boy. The kitchen was quiet, neat and void of many trinkets - the kitchen of a man that had grown up with very few possessions and no idea how to fill the space. One colourful object in the room was the bright green plastic high chair pulled up to the kitchen table.

"I have spent the past year away, recuperating from my wounds in the war," Snape started. He wore his traditional black frock coat and black trousers, the same set he'd taught in for the past ten years, and Snape knew that they kept his wounds hidden. Snape kept his head up, refusing to feel diminished by the fact that his clothing was fraying slightly under the renewing charms, and that Potter sat regally dressed before him.

"In that time period, my teaching license has expired. I have absolutely no wish to return to teaching," Snape paused and pulled his cuffs down over his wrists, "and I am in need of a new source of income."

Snape waited for Potter to interrupt, to make a jab at his teaching skills or his personality conflicts, but nothing came.

"I require a guarantor for an application to sell custom-order potions in the U.K."

Potter stared at him thoughtfully, his eyes darting all over Snape's face as if to check for sincerity.

"I didn't think you'd ever want to teach again," the boy finally said, rising to make the tea. Snape declined a mug, and watched him from behind his long black hair; counting to himself all the ways Potter had changed over the past year that Snape hadn't seen him. He was a bit taller, though he'd never reach his full height potential thanks to those cretinous muggle relatives of his. His chest had broadened, and the addition of a scar on his chin only made him seem more rugged. Had Snape not spent the last seven years making Potter's life miserable, he likely would have considered making a few harmless passes at him.

"Do you need financial help as well?"

Snape couldn't help the slight twitch of his shoulder at the financial mention, but he merely inclined his head as Potter brought the tea over.

"No. I have sufficient funds," Snape replied immediately. It didn't take much to shift the aim of the conversation. "I have a rather colourful past, Mr Potter, and if I wish to get anywhere in the future, I shall need someone in my court who can see past the mark on my arm."

"And who better to ask than the hero of the wizarding world," Potter said, and Snape could finally see the defiant youth in the green eyes that he'd always known the boy to be.

"I see it as asking the man I trusted my memories to," Snape countered, watching for a reaction. Potter didn't meet his eyes, and stared at something outside the window to his left.

"I'm not opposed to being your guarantor, Professor. Not after you gave me those."

"I slashed the ear off one of your friends," Snape pointed out, not believing the easy forgiveness.

"That's for George to sort out with you, not me," Harry shrugged. "If you're going to plead your case for a business license, however, you'll need a plan."

"I am currently finalizing one" Snape replied, slightly waspishly.

"I'll need to see it before I sign your application," Harry said mildly.

"I have been enacting solid plans of attack since before you were born, Potter," Snape growled, refusing to let this calm version of the Harry Potter he knew to rattle him.

"I'm not disputing that," Harry said, rising to close the door to his study, where a phone was ringing. "But I'm also not signing anything without seeing it first."

The little glass eating area lit up like a crackling light bulb with a flash of lightning, and Snape stared out over the back garden.

"Very well. I wish to expedite the process."

Harry sat back down in his chair and nodded. Snape continued staring out the window, clearing his throat in the uncomfortable silence.

"Arthur Weasley mentioned that you may have a room available to let," said Snape, noticing the curious look in Potter's eyes.

"Er, yes. I do," Potter answered, sitting up straighter. "I did."

Snape tampered down the disappointment that immediately flared up. It had been a fleeting thought to leave the dingy flat he'd had to rent in haste after his home had been destroyed.

"I see. I shall not bother you further today," Snape immediately said, rising from his chair. He pulled his sleeves down taught, covering his wrists and his despondency.

"No!" Potter blurted, sticking out his hand as if he meant to catch Snape. "I still have the room, but it's under renovation. Right now. Your house…was it intentional?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and didn't bother answering. The explosion that had destroyed his home had been reported in the _Daily Prophet_ as a likely reprisal attack for Snape's chequered past.

"Right," Potter muttered, shaking his head. "There's two rooms on the top floor. Sitting room, bedroom, and a washroom. They'll be ready in two weeks, if you can wait that long."

Snape inclined his head slightly, not bothering to ask to see the rooms. Undoubtedly they'd be better than where he was staying now.

"And the rent?"

Potter shrugged, and Snape could tell that he wasn't accustomed to landlording. Arthur Weasley had mentioned the room in passing, and that Potter had only let it out to one of the Weasley brothers for a few months last year until they'd gotten on their feet.

"Half of whatever you're paying now."

Snape's toes curled in his shoes, the only outward reaction he'd trained himself to show when he was pleased about his end of a barter. It wasn't visible to anyone, and it was his way of keeping a blank poker face.

"I accept."

Potter went to say something else, but Snape cut him off mid thought. "I shall return by the end of this week with the plans."

Potter sipped from his mug and stared at Snape again, as if he were trying to calculate something from Snape's body language and dress.

"Thursday after five," Potter finally said, keeping whatever other thoughts he had to himself. He summoned Snape's cloak from the front door and withdrew his wand, circling the air and Snape a few times.

"It's pouring rain. You can apparate from here."

…

_17:00, Cobb Knob Lane, second storey kitchen._

The application and other documentation sit on the kitchen table, separated into different piles. The pamphlets and instruction sheets have been smoothed out and read over, notations marking up the margins, and the application has been partially filed out. A spare sheet of parchment sits atop the application, which is open to the page with the guarantor section. On the parchment are several names, all but two struck out with a heavy slash of ink.

….

Thunder continued to rumble across the sky as Harry took his tea mug to the sink. Severus Snape in his house, asking him to be his guarantor, of all things. Harry remembered the horrible night in the Shrieking Shack, how he'd returned after the battle to find a semi-conscious Snape on the floor, potions phials scattered around him. Harry had never been able to get the image of all that blood out of his mind.

Snape had definitely changed over the past year, however. Whether it was the lack of spying, or the lack of teaching, he seemed to have tempered his rapid-anger response. It was refreshing for Harry, as Harry was used to Snape's snide and negative opinion springing forth every time Harry opened his mouth.

He drained the sink and flicked his hands over the swirling water, watching the droplets hit the stainless steel of the sink. He'd not missed Snape's body language, and the twitch of tension when money was mentioned. Harry knew Snape wasn't a materialistic man; that he didn't crave the same sort of repulsive opulence that the Malfoy family seemed to thrive on.

But it had been a year since the battle had happened, and Harry also hadn't missed the well-used clothing that Snape had worn.

Checking his answering machine, which he'd enchanted to inscribe any messages, Harry found that a new job had arrived from the London Met about some counterfeited notes. He still had to sign off his time sheets from his last contract with the Mint, but Harry would phone in for the details of his newest case later.

He walked to the front of the house and started up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under his every footfall, whispering a story to him against his toes. Long nights pacing up and down the hallway outside the guest room, cheerful hellos in the morning as he slipped to the washroom. Harry knew that both magic and a muggle fix existed for the noisy floorboards, but he would never dream of getting rid of such character in his house.

Harry stepped quietly into the smaller bedroom, darkened still by the storm clouds outside. The walls were painted with a cheery jungle mural, and Harry watched as several monkeys jumped around through the painting on the trees. Monkeys were definitely the theme of the room, with a large bin of stuffed monkey toys sitting under the window, and a large monkey head rug covered the central section of wooden floor. Hanging on tiny hangers over the changing table were several play outfits in greens, blues, and reds, and the back wall that shared with the washroom had disappearing letters on it that spelled T-H-E-O. In the corner of the room stood a cot, lightwood with yellow Curious George bed sheets on it, and a foot sticking out through the bars of the cot.

Harry smiled to himself as he approached, softly pushing Theo's foot back through the cot bars and covering him with his light-weight baby blanket. Theo was in a blue-footed pyjama set, and his black hair framed his face perfectly. He also seemed to be completely deaf to the thunder rattling around the house, sleeping peacefully through it.

Harry softly stroked Theo's cheek with his thumb, and then turned to leave the room again. He'd only be down the hall in his own room, researching what would be required for Snape's application. While the wizarding world wasn't exactly out to get Professor Snape's blood, the shopkeeper's licencing grant wasn't easy to get for a non-former death eater. And from the looks of it, Snape needed to do that fairly quickly before he ran out of funds.

"Severus Snape, serving paying customers," Harry muttered to himself, shaking his head. "He won't last six months."

…

Cobb Knob Lane was the cheapest housing one could get in Diagon Alley without crossing over into Knockturn. The rent was paid by the week, though Snape wouldn't have been surprised if flats there let per day as well. It was seven or eight shops up from Knockturn, and Snape bumped into a short man with large eyes, oddly wearing a green muggle delivery uniform, as he headed toward his lane. He snarled his customary growl, not bothering to notice the man's curious glance, and kept walking. Snape avoided hitting a cider bottle with his foot as he walked – old habits died hard and portkeys could be made of anything – toward the second noisiest pub in the lane. The small, crooked door beside it led up to a set of flats above the pub, and Snape warded his flat door strongly as it closed after him. The flat was sparse, but tidy, and Snape had kept his things neatly in whatever luggage he'd been able to salvage.

Potter.

Snape sat on the edge of his bed, fingers steeped in front of his face and supporting his head. He'd made provisions in the war for any after-care he may have needed, against the very small odds that he'd survive the war. But after a year of recovery from Nagini's attack and his attempts at…No.

Snape pushed himself up off the bed and stood over by the kitchen window, watching down into the lane where some twenty-somethings were headed out to the pub after a long workday. He rubbed his left arm tenderly, feeling the bandage edges through his shirtsleeve.

Snape did not want to think about the Mark any longer. It was time to focus on his future and business launch.

….

Snape appeared on Potter's doorstep on Thursday at precisely half six. He carried a small leather satchel, with a worn Hogwarts crest on it. He wore the same robes as before, but had chosen a dark blue shirt underneath, instead of his regular cream.

Potter answered the door holding a small stuffed monkey, a tea towel over his shoulder, and messier hair than normal. Somewhere in the house Snape could hear a radio playing softly.

"Hullo," Potter greeted, welcoming him in. Snape nodded silently and followed him into the kitchen, where dinner seemed to be in the clean up stages. Dishes were in the sink, some were in the drying rack, and a high chair needed wiping down. A small muggle playpen had been set up along the kitchen wall opposite the cupboards, and Snape could see a little boy twisting a bit under the blankets. The baby had dark brown hair, a roundish face, and whimpered slightly as he sucked his two front fingers.

"He's not feeling well," Potter explained, heating the stuffed monkey toy up with his wand.

Snape watched intently as Potter leaned over the playpen and picked the sleeping baby up, cradling him to his chest. He put the warm monkey on the child's stomach, and held him close.

"Alright, have a seat and tell me about these plans of yours," Potter said, demonstrating a natural leadership ability that he seemed to have fine-tuned since leaving Hogwarts.

"That's Lupin's son?" Snape bluntly asked, sitting down and not making a move to open his attaché case.

"Mine," Potter immediately answered, as he rubbed the baby's back. Snape got the feeling that Potter was possessive of the little family he had.

"But yes, he is the son of Tonks and Remus," Potter relented.

Snape looked a moment longer and then pulled out his sheets, laying them out in order of importance. He glanced up and noted Potter's protective glare, and that the baby's hair turned a slightly lighter shade of brown on its own.

"A metamorphmagus," Snape said, staring at the lightly changing hair colour.

"Inherited from his mother," Harry answered softly. The little head turned and burrowed more into the crook of Harry's arm, making small little noises.

"I had heard Tonks was pregnant," Snape said, focusing back on his paperwork. "Peculiar timing for that, during a war."

"Lots of us were born during the last great war," Potter pointed out, stroking the baby's hair. "Theo arrived a month before the final battle, so at least he was safe away from the castle."

He shifted slightly in his seat, focusing on Snape's paperwork, and it was all business from there.

Potter was surprisingly intelligent about his perusal of Snape's plans. He questioned the brewing schedule, questioned the target customer base, questioned back up suppliers in case of problems, and actually read the detailed financial prospect Snape had prepared.

"How many other people have you agreed to stand in as guarantor for?" Snape asked, curious about the change in temperament of one Harry Potter.

"Just you," Potter answered distractedly. "Ron mentioned last month that the Ministry might start restricting love potions, so you might want to remove those from your list."

"Those are rumoured to be best sellers amongst women and silly teenagers," Snape countered in a no-nonsense tone.

"That may be," Harry said, running his hand through his hair, "but the Ministry wants to restrict it because people were using it for blackmail. It'll save you a lot of trouble if you avoid them all together."

Snape skimmed over his sheets again, even though he already knew that removing love potions would not make much a difference in his scheduling. He didn't much like the potions, and had only included them as a means of revenue.

"What's his full name?" Snape asked, nodding towards the bundle in Potter's lap.

Harry paused and put the papers back into a neat stack. "Theodore Jonathan Potter."

He shifted the boy up so that Theo was leaning against his chest, a small cherubic face slack in sleep. Snape immediately saw Lupin's facial structure in Theo, and what looked to be one of Tonks' regular chins.

"What have you been doing the past year?" Potter asked, changing the subject swiftly before Snape could ask any further questions. "I know St. Mungo's released you last July."

"A private research project," Snape said, levelling his best glare at Potter.

"Here in England?"

"I don't see how that is any of –"

"If I am asked why you all but disappeared from the wizarding world last year, yes it will be my business."

Snape sat back and calculated just how much he was willing to tell Potter. Arthur Weasley had been right when Snape had gone to see him the week before. Harry Potter was definitely no longer a fumbling student.

"I was in northern England, researching the effects of rare hyacinth species on long term curses."

Potter stared, and Snape caught the minute flick of Potter's gaze from Snape's face to his left arm.

"The plan still needs final adjustments," said Snape, gathering up his documents in a storm of movement.

"What's the next step in the application?" Potter asked, seemingly unaware that he'd unnerved Snape.

"Preliminary approval," Snape responded, buttoning up the top of his frock coat.

"And if it's approved, you'll get a hearing?" Potter asked, flicking his wand and closing the curtains of the dining room.

"I will be invited to a meeting, yes."

"Owl me the date, then," Potter said off-handedly, flipping over the monkey heating pack on Theo's stomach.

Snape had almost started to apparate.

"There is absolutely no reason for your attendance," Snape bristled.

Potter stood carefully, balancing Theo in his arms.

"I think we both know that I'm good at ending up in places I don't need to be," Potter answered, smiling.

…

_Room 513, Ministry of Magic, 5_ _th_ _floor._

A stack of request letters arrives on the desk of a mid-level office witch, who is currently on holiday and won't file the folder's contents for another week. She normally takes the request sheets and files them by last name, creating a tentative schedule for revision of the completed forms. This is completely arbitrary, as the amount of applications submitted is significantly lower than the amount requested, but it is done purely to keep the office witch busy and supply statistics to the financial department of the Ministry of Magic.

…

A stack of textbooks sat abandoned under the coffee table, with several notepads lying beside them. Three copies of _The Canterbury Tales_ , _Emma_ , and _Beowulf_ were filled with little bits of paper as page markers for important passages.

"Why is this always on the ruddy Discovery Channel?" Ron asked, flicking the tv on. Hermione sat with Harry on the couch, Theo standing on the cushions between them.

"It's a great channel, Ron. Interesting shows," Harry said, his voice light as he kept his eyes on Theo. The little boy was leaning against the back of the couch, waving his toy monkey at people walking by on the street.

"Yeah, but you've got over three hundred channels, and you always leave it on the one that teaches you something!" Ron protested.

"Beebebebe shaah bee!" Theo said, bending his knees and bouncing up against the couch. Both Harry and Hermione's hands shot up to make sure he didn't fall off.

"It's handy in my line of work," Harry explained, grinning.

"Did you get the job you were talking about the other day, Harry?" Hermione asked, patting Theo on the bum as he danced.

"I did, yeah. Barclays sent over a batch of seventy-five fifty pound notes," Harry said, reaching for his drink on the coffee table.

"All forgeries?" Ron asked, still flicking through the channels.

"All but two," Harry confirmed.

"Harrroooo," said Theo, turning around and flopping down onto the couch. Hermione took the opportunity to tickle him, and his hair went bright red as he started giggling.

"You've got easy street there, mate," said Ron approvingly. "Takes you two minutes to check if they're forgeries, and you charge the muggles top dollar for the service."

"Ron, I think Harry's work is a bit more difficult than that," Hermione objected. Theo was trying to squirm down from the chesterfield, so she took his little hands in hers and let him walk a bit.

"Well, not the detecting part. Even when there's muggles around, I can cast the detection spells wandlessly. But then I have to prove non-magically how I knew it was a fake. That's the challenge."

"You can't just make it up?"

"No. There's other consultants in the country, and the banks rotate who they use. They'd think I was trying to defraud them if I didn't have an explanation."

"Sounds too difficult to me," Ron shrugged, ruffling Theo's red hair as he toddled by.

"Meee. Mememememe," Theo hummed.

"This round is a bit tricky. I've yet to figure out how they forged them."

"Theo!" Hermione kneeled down to his level. "Where's daddy, Theo?"

Theo's hair immediately went jet black, growing out a bit to the same length as Harry's. The green eyes sparkled, and Theo's jaw squared slightly to match Harry's more. Theo clapped and hummed, staggering over to where Harry was sitting on the couch.

Harry grinned like a loon.

"Speaking of work," Harry said, lifting Theo off his feet and high into the air, "guess who asked me to be his guarantor on a Ministry application?"

Harry spent the rest of the evening chatting with Hermione and Ron about Snape, Snape's past, and the Ministry's new regulations regarding trades in the U.K. The Ministry's decision to set strict standards upon items sold to the public had caused a lot of frustration by way of the merchants, but Harry knew it was for a good reason. The sheer number of thugs who'd popped up dark arts detectors and potions during the war had all but demanded new regulation on marketable products.

The problem was, the license was now tied in with the Mortar Grant Foundation, which provided a start up bursary to shopkeepers and merchants. The bursary was intended to provide a kick-start to the wizarding economy after the war, but had the drawback of ensuring much more detailed scrutiny to the applicants trying for it.

The challenge Snape faced, and Harry was quite certain Snape was aware of his chances, was his shady history. All Hogwarts wizards and witches educated in the past twenty years knew of Snape's less than delightful personality, and many still regarded him with distrust for his actions during the final year of the war. As invaluable as he had turned out to be, Snape had been a little too convincing in his role.

"So that's my problem," Harry finished explaining. Theo was sprawled out on the couch next to Harry, fast asleep.

"How many guarantors does he need?" Ron asked, his face carrying an expression he often wore while playing chess.

"Two, one primary and one secondary."

"To be perfectly honest, I don't think a shop keeper is a good career choice for Professor Snape," Hermione said, biting her lip in indecision.

"He does have a bit of trouble with the whole people thing," Ron said, stretching his feet out on the ottoman. "Did he say why he chose this?"

"No," Harry said, rubbing his fingers over his left wrist, where tattooed words encircled the joint. "The Ministry has very little record of him over the past year. He paid his taxes just before the battle, he was in St. Mungo's for two months, and then he disappeared. No travel records, no Floo service fee, not even a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_."

"Well, maybe not under the name Severus Snape," said Ron, smiling.

"Professor Snape's been a spy for longer than we've been alive, Harry. He could make himself invisible for a year," Hermione added, stealing some crisps from the bowl in front of Ron.

"Ah, but I have Kreacher," Harry pointed out dramatically. "Kreacher couldn't find anything either, and you know how house elf magic trumps ours."

"Hmm. Maybe you should just try asking him, Harry," Hermione shrugged. "He wants you to be his guarantor, he could at least answer some questions."

Ron shook his head and leaned over toward Harry.

" _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *

_Potter kitchen, Alwyne Street, London._

Severus Snape's application is stuck to the fridge by a thermometer magnet. The edges are slightly curled up, moisture from the rainy London weather permeating the parchment. The application has been filed out mostly by a consistent cursive hand – small interior letters and large flowing stems on the uppercase. There is a page filled out in a larger and uniform script, and signed by H. Potter. The bottom half of the page has been annotated with a more basic form of scribble, though it contains mostly positive words in support of the application. It is signed by Ronald Bilius Weasley.

….

Harry hated going to Diagon Alley. His status as the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor had sparked a flame under journalists, who at first had trailed him all over the alley in hopes of an exclusive interview to give their readers. Theo's adoption seemed to only have made him more of a catch, though Harry was careful to not let any pictures of Theo be taken. He managed this with a healthy cupboard of disguises, provided by Fred and George.

For today, he needed to fetch some books from the bookshop, a teething potion for Theo, a new travelling robe for himself and Theo, and a few sweets. Just before leaving, Harry placed his empty milk bottles outside the front step of his door, scowling at the darkening sky. This summer had been the wettest that London had experienced in a while, and while the rain was lovely and refreshing, he was starting to get tired of it. Perhaps he'd leave a small tip for the milkman, for putting up with the crap weather.

Passing through the barrier at The Leaky Cauldron, Harry wiped some sandy blond hair from his eyes. Theo's hair was the same colour, for the moment, and the little boy was dressed in dark old-fashioned wizarding clothes. Harry's own robes looked well used and non-descript, which allowed him to pass through the crowds with ease.

Harry twisted his way through the alley, headed toward the apothecary. It was never usually busy, and today was no different. Only three other people were in the shop, and Harry still managed to accidentally bump into a man when turning the corner of a small aisle. Harry barely kept himself from stuttering as he apologized to Mr Diggory for bumping him. It had been just over three years since he'd last seen Cedric's father, and the poor man wasn't looking too well. Clothing that had once been finely pressed and cared for was creased and musty, a day's growth of stubble existed in odd patches on his chin, and his left hand trembled consistently as he clutched a bag of thin threads of metal. A slightly beaten Ministry of Magic employee nametag hung from his handkerchief pocket. Harry mumbled a 'good day', and avoided eye contact.

Just as he exited the apothecary, Harry was startled to see the back of Severus Snape disappearing around a small alley corner. Shifting Theo on his hip, he quickly followed, stepping through to a very narrow cobbled lane marked off by a chipped street sign. Cobb Knob Lane was the appellation for a patch of pavement that housed two pubs, a second hand shop, and a cobbler's stall. Above the pubs and the second hand shop were two stories of flats, with crooked windows that only had curtains in half of them.

Theo played idly with Harry's hair as Harry watched Snape stalk down the lane, pausing to talk to a man standing at the door of one of the pubs. They seemed to be well acquainted, going by Snape's relaxed body language, and his open facial expressions. Harry hadn't seen Snape happy like this before, not without the malicious undertones that normally accompanied his cheer. The man Snape was talking to laughed at something, and reached forward to squeeze Snape's upper arm. Harry blinked forcibly, watching the exchange. Was Snape gay?

"Da da da da da," Theo mumbled, yawning into Harry's neck.

"Just a sec," Harry murmured, rubbing Theo's back. Harry watched, fascinated, at Snape's immediate tensing upon the arrival of a third man. This bloke looked large and drunk, seemingly saying exactly the right thing to piss Snape off. It only took two minutes before Snape stormed off and through a small door, which Harry assumed led to the flats. He had been clutching his left arm, and Harry wondered if the Mark still hurt him.

Thunder rumbled in the far off distance, warning of another rainstorm. Harry decided to head back toward home, but not before he noticed a small light appear in one of the windows overhead. So this was where Snape had ended up after his house was destroyed. It had only happened a few days earlier, and Harry figured it was the cheapest place Snape could find on short notice. Nonetheless, Harry decided to see if the renovations on his own house could be pushed a little faster.

Harry distractedly walked out of Diagon Alley, his hands under Theo's bum as he walked toward Embankment Station, where there was a public apparition spot. He preferred apparating from there, as Theo still didn't take apparition well and his cries would draw a lot of attention. Villiers Street was practically empty, however, and Harry continued pondering as he walked. Perhaps he could speak to Kingsley, and see if Snape's application could be sped up. But maybe it was best not to intervene, as he didn't have a clear idea of Snape's financial situation (though from seeing the man's clothing and fierce reaction to the mere mention of galleons – Harry had a pretty strong guess).

Harry passed by a young man who seemed inordinately enthralled by the blue history plaque attached to a white-bricked building, declaring it the once-abode of Rudyard Kipling. He stepped out of the way of the man's camera, avoiding capture in one of the many pictures the man was taking.

The problem with rebuilding after the war was that the Ministry had completely restructured certain departments, complicating what used to be very simple procedures before. The licence Snape had applied for was directly connected to the Mortar Grant Fund, which meant that for his application to be considered, he also had to qualify for the grant's requirements. It seemed odd, but each shop owner for the next seven years was to receive a grant to supplement their shops and facilitate a boon in revenue for the wizarding world. The money was all coming from the Wizarding National Lotto, which proved to be one of Kingsley's best ideas for getting the Ministry of Magic out of financial ruin in such a short period of time. The prize, a hundred thousand galleons, had enticed almost everyone over seventeen to purchase at least one five galleon lotto ticket. Smaller draws happened weekly, but the large jackpot would be drawn at the end of August.

Snape qualified for the grant, on paper. Harry worried about how Snape would fare if he made it through to the interview part of the process. Harry apparated home with Theo, automatically rubbing the back of Theo's neck to calm him down from the apparition. Fresh bottles of milk stood on his doorstep, and Harry carefully balanced Theo as he picked them up to bring them in.

Perhaps Snape would be okay in the interview, Harry thought, putting away his groceries. Snape had obviously learned a bit of patience in the last year, as he'd spent two significant chunks of time with Harry and not thrown a single hex.

….

Snape rapped smartly on Potter's door the following Tuesday, scowling at the neighbour who was staring at him again. It was a damp London summer afternoon and Snape wore his best set of robes, rich black ones Albus Dumbledore had gifted him on his thirtieth birthday.

The door was thrown open before Snape could say anything rude to the nosy neighbour, however, and he entered to find Potter dressed in dark grey slacks and a dark maroon shirt. He was loosening a grey tie from around his neck, and beckoned Snape in.

"Come in, I'm just waiting on a fax of some pounds."

The phone rang before Snape could question that bizarre statement, and he watched Potter enter the living room to answer it. Potter's words were clipped, but not rude, and Snape couldn't make much of the conversation. Something else had caught his attention, however, as shortly after Potter had started speaking, two bright green eyes appeared from behind the large chair in the living room. Snape watched as Theodore Potter emerged from the living room, wearing a nappy, a blue shirt, and trailing a small blanket in his clutches. His hair was black this time, and though wild, it was slightly tamer than Potter's. The little boy inched along the wall toward where Harry had gone into the office, his green eyes locked on Snape's.

"Hello, Monkey," Potter said. He'd hung up the phone without Snape realizing, and his body posture was more relaxed than before, slouching slightly like the teenager he still was. Theo, who clutched his blanket tightly, smiled slightly and continued to stare at Snape as he made his way to Potter.

"He's shy," Potter explained, scooping the boy up and retrieving a juice cup from the coffee table.

"Do you charm his hair and eyes to look just like yours?" Snape asked, unable to help the slight sneer that entered his voice.

"No, not at home." Potter replied, his tone slightly put off. Snape heard an odd ringtone sound in the office, and assumed it was the fax object that Potter had mentioned. "Metamorphmagi are heavily influenced by emotion, as you know. You certainly made fun of Tonks for it."

"He seems pleased enough for a toddler," said Snape, keeping eye contact with Theo's curious green eyes.

"He lost his entire family before he was three months old. It's been a bit of a journey, but he won't ever doubt that someone loves him," Potter immediately said. He kissed the top of Theo's head before pointing Snape through to the kitchen. Snape suddenly understood that Potter was giving Lupin's son everything he wished he'd gotten from the Dursleys as an orphan.

"You were not to have sealed the envelope," said Snape, eyeing the package of paperwork on the counter.

"I didn't," Potter clarified, putting Theo into his green high chair. "But everything is filled out and the money transfer included. You just need to seal it yourself and send it."

"I don't need your money," Snape bristled, not touching the application.

"I thought it was part of the guarantor thing," Potter said, setting down a bowl of cheerios in front of Theo. He wasn't any better at lying to Snape now than he had been as a student.

Snape ignored the paperwork, watching Potter fetch dinner ingredients from the fridge, his body tense. Potter had never been comfortable in terse silence, and Snape was inordinately pleased to find that hadn't changed.

"So what are you doing these days, other than starting a business?" Potter asked, with subtleness that would not have fooled a troll.

"Stripping for money," Snape deadpanned, his lip twitching once as Potter spun around and dropped a package of spinach.

"You…what?" Potter stared at him and the baby hummed cheerfully, attacking the bowl of cheerios.

Snape slowly crossed his arms, remaining silent. Potter got the hint, and continued on with his cooking. Deciding to avoid any awkward dinner invitations issued no doubt due to Potter's idea of his pitiful finances, Snape picked up the envelope and apparated out before Potter could say another word. He did notice, however, that Theo had oddly waved goodbye as he spun to leave, cheerios stuck to his little stubby fingers.

…

_Mail room, 8_ _th_ _floor, Ministry of Magic._

In a large oval room filled with cubby boxes along the wall, hundreds of paper airplane memos flying above, packages hovering under the strength of miniature hot air balloons, and a mail chute dropping letters from owls above, Severus Snape's completed application arrives. A tall wizard, dressed in blue Ministry robes and completely oblivious to the madness around him, sorts the letter into the mailbox of Mathilda Botsnair, one of the four deciding officials for the Mortar Grant Foundation. Anyone in the wizarding world may apply for the business licence and loan, provided they have a well-detailed and successfully sound business plan. The potential downfall with Severus Snape's application won't be his business plan, however, but the stigma attached to his name.

….

Harry nudged the front door lock with his key and twisted it, pushing against the door with his shoulder to get it open. The warm smell of soup drifted out through the opening door, causing Harry's stomach to grumble.

"Hullo!"

It was a slightly warmer day, which made the rain hitting the pavement outside create a small mist as it splattered. Harry dumped his duffle bag at the door and slipped off his shoes, not bothering to undo them.

"Dada!" Theo called from the kitchen, where the bright lights illuminated the dreary day. A black simmering pot was on the stove, and there was fresh bread on the counter.

"Hey Monkey," Harry said, walking toward the table. He was careful not to touch anything, as his clothing was covered in paint and he had dirt all over his hands.

"Harry Potter," Minerva McGonagall chided, looking at him over her hand of extra large playing cards. Theo was in his highchair, waving his own card around.

"Hi Aunt Minerva," Harry smiled, his expression sheepish. He leaned over Theo and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. "Thanks for watching Theo."

"Stand up, young man, and spread your arms."

Harry stood still with his arms out as Minerva's wand passed over him, removing the paint from his clothes.

"And what bruises do you have?"

Harry blushed and pulled up his shirt, exposing his left side. Just under his ribs was a large blackening bruise, twice the size of a muggle 50p coin.

"It makes a difference where you're hit," Harry explained, trying to sound like getting shot with a paintball gun was perfectly reasonable. "George shot Fred in the calf, and half his leg is already bruised."

"Episkey," Minerva said. She put her wand back into the sleeve of her dress and gave him a disapproving look.

"The same Fred that only stopped using a wheelchair two months ago."

"Er, yes. That one."

"Were I still your professor, Mr Potter, you would be in detention for a week. As I'm not, I shall let Molly Weasley deal with you," Minerva mock scolded.

Harry had started to build a card house on the tray of Theo's highchair, making a game of keeping the little hands away from the built cards.

"Mr Weasley was there. He's our buffer against Mrs Weasley," Harry said, grinning and tickling Theo. He missed the fond look Minerva gave him.

"You'd best hope she never finds one of your paintball guns," Minerva said, rising to serve the soup.

Dinner was a simple affair, with Harry and Minerva talking while Theo made an absolute mess with his food. Harry had strained the chicken and vegetables, putting them on a plate with small chunks of bread. Theo was singing to himself as he ate, however, and missed his mouth on occasion.

Harry explained his newest case with Minerva; a rise in counterfeited muggle money was besieging London, oddly in smaller ten and twenty pound denominations. The first major counterfeiting case that Harry had ever worked on involved fifty pound notes, as the payoff was larger in a smaller amount of time. But whoever was operating this current run seemed to be in no big hurry. The notes Harry had been asked to examine had come from various petrol stations, stationers, and smoke shops throughout London, all used to make small lotto ticket purchases. Harry didn't really care what was being bought with the money, but he was quite impressed with the level of forgery. The only imperfect aspect about the notes were the holograms, and Harry couldn't figure out how an otherwise perfect copy had been made. Even the ultraviolet marks were consistent through the notes, although the colour shade was slightly off.

It was almost as if a witch or wizard had tried to duplicate the note. If that were the case, Harry would have to involve the Muggle Crimes unit in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Harry," Minerva said, interrupting Harry's thoughts and startling him bad enough that he dropped his fork.

"Sorry, thinking about the case," Harry apologized, picking up his utensil again. He noticed that Theo had flung a chunk of bread onto his plate, and raised his eyebrow at the little boy. Theo had also apparently decided to use a carrot as a crayon, and coloured orange mushy lines on the highchair tray.

"Perhaps as a distraction you can tell me how it came to be that Severus Snape is your tenant?" Minerva asked, finishing the last of her soup. She threw a pointed look at Harry, conveying her annoyance that he'd not told her first.

"Well, he's not yet," Harry mumbled. "But he needed a place to stay, after his house was destroyed."

"Naturally. However, you were both constantly needling each other as student and teacher, which leads me to believe that you have either not thought this through well enough, or it is a form of revenge."

"No!" Harry stood up, rubbing the inside of his arm through his shirt. He stepped back from the table and fetched a bowl of grapes from the kitchen counter to give to Theo. "How could you think that, Professor? The man nearly died for me…I couldn't…"

"I'm not accusing you, Harry. I must ask, as you will be in a position of power. I have spent enough time with Severus to know how destructive he can be when he perceives he's being mistreated," she responded, shaking her finger. Theo imitated her and shook his own finger back, giggling.

"Yeah. Don't I know it," Harry exhaled, falling back into his seat. "I honestly just wanted to help him out. He seems to have changed a lot since I last was his student."

"Peace can change a person, just as much as war can," Minerva commented. She watched as Harry levitated some of Theo's grapes to dance in the air in front of him. He shrieked with laughter and made a game at grabbing the grapes.

"I suppose. I've definitely changed," Harry mused, watching the dancing grapes. "Did you know Snape…is Snape gay?"

"I don't believe that man has been gleeful a single day in his life," Minerva deadpanned, though her lips quirked as she tried to hide a smile.

"That's maybe one of the reasons I wanted to help him," Harry immediately replied, smiling.

"If he is, would that stop you from letting him the stay here?" she asked, her tone more serious.

"No, of course not. It's just, when I'm caught off guard I go completely blank on what to say. You know how he zeroes in on people when that happens. I want to avoid that, that's all," Harry shrugged his shoulders, not looking at his surrogate aunt.

"Yes, he is rather proficient with exploiting people's weaknesses," Minerva agreed, sounding as sure as one would be, dealing with Snape's personality quirks in the fourteen years he'd been with her at Hogwarts. "You should prepare yourself for the possibility that Severus may bring home a male date."

Harry looked thoughtful, before draining his glass of water. Outside the rain had started pouring harder, looking almost like hail was hitting the back garden deck.

"Right then, I will," he said, nodding more to himself than to Minerva.

"You're a good lad," said Minerva, patting Harry's hand. Theo had finally caught the last grape, and was talking to it before eating it. "But as much as you have chosen me for family, you will be in serious trouble if I find you've insulted Severus."

"Yes ma'am," Harry reassured.

…

Snape sat at a table in Pret A Manger in St Pancras Station. His chair rested firmly against the back wall of the cafe, and he was partially hidden by the shadows bouncing off the corners of the café. Snape hated the crowds, but preferred this corner of St Pancras to search for employment, as he did not look out of place having several newspapers to flip through at the table.

Snape had always been a fastidious note-taker, whether in his notebooks or textbooks themselves, and he applied himself no differently to this task. The blue spiral-bound book on his left had a neatly drawn chart in it, with the names of more than thirty muggle and magic companies listed down the side. Categories were placed along the x-axis, information about the job posting date and when Snape had applied. There was also a column for when the company contacted Snape in return, but so far that remained empty. Even though he was applying to open up his own shop, with Harry Potter the Wizarding World Hero as his guarantor, Snape wasn't overly optimistic about the application. He'd always survived by having several viable back up plans, and this was a habit he refused to change.

Frustrated with the lack of employment he could find – stupidly in his youth he'd chosen to join the Death Eaters instead of going to university – Snape closed his notebook and sat back against the fake leather chair. He'd gotten himself a plain tea earlier, but was drinking it as slowly as he could to avoid purchasing another expensive food item. The front page of the _Prophet_ was filled with slanted political diatribe as usual, but a small article beneath the fold caught his attention. It was about the Wizarding National Lotto, and the four people who'd won the smaller draws so far. It also detailed a list of what exactly one could buy with a hundred thousand galleons, which made Snape wonder who in their right mind would spend the money all on broomsticks or quidditch supplies.

Nestled in his coat pocket, a bog-standard black business jacket to repel the rain, was a letter from Churchill Home Insurance detailing the investigation into the destruction of the house at Spinner's End. Snape hadn't insured it for much, as the house was run down and in a crummy part of town – not worth a lot physically or on paper. But the contents had been insured, and that was why Snape currently had £3500 in his muggle bank account. Not enough to sustain him for a long time, but enough for a few months. It was likely all he would get, as even though the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee had arrived on scene shortly after the house had exploded, his insurance didn't cover accidental damage. The committee ensured that any magical remnants that would confound investigating muggles had been destroyed, but that didn't leave any natural cause for the explosion; something the muggles would find highly suspicious.

Snape was about to take another sip of his tea when the table became darker and a tall man stepped directly into the path of light from the hanging lamp by Snape's table.

"Can I help you?" Snape said, his voice cold and his gaze hard. Ronald Weasley faltered for half a second before sitting in the chair across from Snape, dropping his wet umbrella to the floor.

"That was not an invitation to sit."

"Good afternoon to you too, Professor," Weasley said, stirring his own bought coffee and paying more attention to that than Snape's face. Perhaps Potter had warned his friend about Snape's legilimency skills.

"I'm not here long. I just have a few things to say, since you're moving in with Harry."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest, darting his eyes quickly down to ensure his notebook was closed.

"I am becoming his tenant. Nothing more."

Snape was pleased to see a spotted blush rise up ugly from Weasley's neck.

"Call this a 'just in case' clause," Weasley said, tamping down his reaction. He took a drink of his coffee and grimaced at the hot temperature, before putting the mug back down.

"The _Daily Prophet_ will offer you money to leak information on Harry's life. Don't do it. Never mention where Harry lives, what goes on in his house, or who visits him. Don't say a word about what he does for a living."

Snape leaned forward in his chair and pointed one finger down toward the table, eager to say something. Either Weasley had anticipated the interruption or was remarkably bad at interpreting body language, as he kept going through his speech.

"Don't ever think about hurting Theo, don't attempt to change the wards on the house, and don't treat him like you did in fifth year," Weasley finished, his jaw set and radiating determination.

"Don't embarrass Sir Potter when he has lovers parading through the house?" Snape sneered, his smile twisted. Weasley gave him an odd look that Snape couldn't quite interpret.

"Harry won't be parading anyone," Weasley said, narrowing his eyes.

"Rubbish, Mr Weasley. Potter is a hero, he likely has his pick of suitors each week," Snape countered, leaning forward to put Weasley off balance.

"Are you actually jealous of his fame?" Weasley asked; disbelief splashed across his face.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped. "I am not desperate enough to trade in on my career in the war to secure a date."

"Neither is Harry," Weasley countered, crossing his arms. They sat in silence for a moment as Snape took a sip of his tea.

"What a pleasant surprise."

Weasley stared at him, his blue-green eyes dark and unblinking as he sized up his former professor. Snape remembered the very first day that Weasley entered his potions classroom, a small gangly child in second hand robes. Small enough to squish like a bug, Snape remembered wistfully.

"And how will Mr Potter feel when he learns that he yet again needed defending from his moronic compatriot?" Snape asked.

"My best friend once walked to his own death alone. I don't think he'll ever mind someone looking out for him."

Weasley drank more of his coffee, more relaxed now that he'd gotten his piece off his mind. He glanced at the papers on Snape's table, before casually looking around the room at the various travellers that were passing through St Pancras. Snape figured it was partially nervous habit, as it had only been a year and a half since the three students had been hiding for their lives.

"Was there any point to this grandiose speech of friendship, Mr Weasley?" Snape finally asked, staring down his former student. "I assure you, I am not fool enough to antagonise one in such a position of power as a landlord."

Weasley looked at him again, his eyes this time making direct contact.

"Just to make sure you realize that we're not unequal Hogwarts students anymore."

Snape was well aware of that. He did not need a reminder to know that he was looking directly at one of the three to have rid the world of Voldemort.

"Your wishes will be honoured," Snape said, not conceding anything else.

Weasley nodded, seemingly satisfied, and stood to leave the café. Snape still wasn't sure how Weasley had found him there, but on principle he wouldn't ask.

"And by following your little rules, Mr Weasley, I have your guarantee to be left in peace?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrow pointedly.

"No," Weasley replied, laughing slightly. "We're at the house two or three nights a week. So I'll be seeing you around, Professor."

"Wonderful," Snape muttered, pulling another paper toward himself and dismissing Weasley. The young man still stuck out slightly in a large crowd of muggles, but over the past year had learned to dress himself in more subdued muggle fashion, and Snape was surprised at how well Weasley cleaned up.

"If you're any good at muggle chemistry, we might have a freelancing job for you," Weasley offered, smiling as he left the table. Snape muttered a minor itching hex at the man's feet, to make the irritating twit go away.

He pulled out his lotto ticket for this week's Wizarding National Lotto, and checked it against the numbers printed in the _Daily Prophet_.

Not a single matching number, again.

…

Harry sat at his desk, lamps and candles lit around him as a thin piece of decorated paper hovered in the air above him. It was a certificate, printed on A4-sized paper, and there were three others on his desk, surrounded by a magnifying glass, four books with various bits of paper acting as place markers, and a plate of Jammie Dodgers. On the floor Theo staggered around, pushing a large race car push toy in front of him.

"You might as well come in, I know you're lurking," Harry said, making a note on his notepad. "And I know when anyone on my guest list apparates here."

Snape was standing just beyond the doorframe of the office, and Harry could tell he was annoyed to have been called out. This had been Harry's home for the last year though, and he knew all the creaks of the floors.

Snape made his way into the room and neatly avoided getting hit with the car as he stepped toward the bookcases.

"Is something wrong with the application?" Harry asked, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on an embossed seal on the lower corner of one of the certificates.

"No," Snape simply replied, not looking at Harry. "I believe that if we are to share rooms in a house, we should become accustomed to each other's presence."

Harry nearly dropped the magnifying glass he'd picked up and looked up at Snape, squinting.

"Sorry?"

"Repeated exposure has long been proven in the science community as a successful method for introducing new elements into an existing state with few complications."

Harry blinked, his brain working rapidly to figure out what Snape was talking about. It sounded like Snape planned to spend more time with Harry, in an effort to reduce their volatile tendencies.

"I am curious, Mr Potter, as to why you have chosen to live here instead of at Grimmauld Place," Snape said, thumbing through one of Harry's books on the history of paper. "I assume you still own that dreadful house."

Harry went back making notes, levitating another of the certificates into the air and letting it hover next to the first one. If Snape wanted spend time with Harry, and listen to Theo jabbering away while he played as well, Harry decided he was fine with that.

"Can you have a look at that box over there?" Harry asked, pointing at a metal box on the floor under the window. "See if it's unlocked. And yeah, I still own it. But I gave it to the Dursleys."

Snape stopped mid-way over to the box, turning to stare at Harry. He growled when Theo ran over his foot with the race car.

"You gave a wizarding property, likely full of curses and hexed objects, to Petunia Evans?"

Harry was concentrating on the two pieces of paper, trying to superimpose them in the air.

"Yes, but we got rid of the magic first. Too many memories in that place for me to ever live there, and I rather owed them."

"For what, exactly?" Snape scoffed.

"They definitely didn't want me," Harry conceded, "but they took me in and still had their lives turned inside out. After they were forced to leave Privet Drive last year, I thought they could have it. I wasn't ever going to use it."

"A Kensington row house wasted on those waspish muggles," Snape said, and Harry could head the vitriol building in his voice.

"Leave it," Harry snapped. "They're concerned about status and wealth, so let them have it. I don't want to ever live there."

Snape had made it to the metal box and was inspecting it. His glance darted up at the heavy intonation of Harry's last sentence, but did drop the subject in favour of testing the safe. It was black box, powdered black metallic, and had a small number pad on the front. There were scratches all over the door where the paint had been chipped off, and there was a dent in the top.

"A muggle safe, Potter?" Snape smugly asked crossing his arms. "Forgotten how to cast alohamora?"

"Abbrrooomm" said Theo, crashing the toy car into Harry's desk.

"No magic, Snape," Harry said, standing up to move Theo's push car to the centre of the room again. "You can't do magic around muggles."

"What is it exactly that you do, Potter?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I catch cheque and paper forgeries, mostly for muggle banks. I practice on safes some times."

Snape looked around the room at the posters of various coins and paper notes framed and hung on the wall. There were a few magnifying glasses on shelves, a set of brass scales, and quite a few books on coining.

"Those are not cheques," Snape said, pointing his finger at the certificates hovering in the air over Harry's desk.

"No, they're authenticity papers," Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows at the certificates. "Counterfeited ones."

Snape gave Harry a look that Harry well recognised, it was one he received often when his potion had gone spectacularly wrong.

"This one is from The Ten Bells," Harry explained, pointing at the first certificate. "It's in Whitechapel, and it's where the victims of Jack the Ripper used to drink. This one is from The Seven Stars, and it's one of the few pubs that survived the Great Fire of 1666. And this one, this is from The Tipperary, the first Irish pub outside of Ireland."

Snape was giving him an odd look, and Harry knew it was because Snape was unused to him offering knowledge. Harry was accustomed to that reaction; people had always assumed that Hermione was the brainy one in the group, and that Harry and Ron bumbled around with her help. But Harry had always enjoyed reading random facts and tidbits, ever since he'd first picked Hedwig's name out of the _History of Magic_ book he'd gotten his very first summer as a true wizard.

Harry took a second to check that Theo was still entertained on the rug, playing with his toy car, before continuing his explanation.

"Each of these pubs have this certificate of authenticity hanging up on a wall, somewhere inside. Last week my contact from the London Met called, and mentioned that they'd had some pubs broken into, and documents trifled with. I don't know why someone would steal these authenticity certificates and leave forged ones in return, but that's what they've done."

Harry stood in front of his desk, his hand rubbing his wrist as he pondered.

"Men will do anything if a potential profit is on the cards," Snape finally said.

"Yes, I suppose," Harry added, distracted in thought. "In any event, I only have to prove that they're fakes. The Met has to figure out _why_ it's being done."

"Dadadadada," Theo called, running toward Harry and crashing into his legs. Harry leaned forward and ruffled his hands through Theo's hair.

"I find it awfully hard to believe that you can resist the urge to investigate a potential crime," Snape said, poking the hinges of the safe with his fingers. "Considering your stellar history of prying into affairs of no concern to you whilst at Hogwarts."

Harry watched as Snape moved on from the hinges and moved his fingers slowly over the keypad, presumably checking for uneven wear on some of the numbers.

"It's very easy, actually," Harry said, putting the floating certificates back in an envelope. "I get paid, and someone else loses sleep over the problem."

Snape popped the keypad off and started fiddling with the wires underneath.

"Ah, the boring adult life of Harry Potter. Does the Ministry know you're making such money off of muggles?"

"Certain people do. There's a Muggle Crimes unit that works directly with the muggle police chief, for when wizards and witches break muggle laws using magic. I work with them sometimes."

Snape managed to spark the right combination of wires and had the lock moving on its own.

"That's cheating," Harry protested weakly. He was more amused than annoyed, however.

"No, that's being resourceful. So you write up a little report, hand it over to the police, and they take it from there," Snape said, repeating what Harry had just said.

"Something like that," said Harry, stacking up the papers on his desk.

"And then what?"

"And…and then?"

Harry watched Snape, a puzzled look on his face. His job wasn't all that difficult to comprehend, he didn't think, and he wasn't sure what else Snape wanted to know.

"Once your job is finished for the day, what happens?" Snape asked, slowing down his voice to make his point seem clearer.

"Oh. Well, I read Theo a story, or take him for a walk. Ron, Hermione, and I are taking night classes to make up our muggle school A levels. That's about it."

Harry couldn't figure out why Snape was giving him such an odd look.

"That is related to the freelancing job Mr Weasley mumbled about?" Snape asked, his voice completely lacking intonation. The change of topic caught Harry off guard, and he blinked a few times before realizing what Snape meant.

"Right. For the A levels. We've got someone for maths, literature, geo, history, and music. We're missing the science bit."

"I shall think about it," Snape said, not giving anything away by his expression. "In the meantime, I have received notice that my application is in the processing stage. You may be summoned to answer questions on my behalf."

Snape really didn't look pleased about that, but it was part of the process and Harry supposed that Snape trusted his Gryffindor background enough to know that Harry wouldn't lie.

"That's brilliant. I'll be ready." Harry looked up and noticed that Snape was once again in the same robes that he'd worn the last two times he'd come to visit. "Oh, and the renovations upstairs will be done soon. I think you might be able to move in by Sunday."

Snape glanced back at him with a slight look of gratitude on his face, before it was gone again. Now that he'd gotten the safe open, his eyes wandered about the room as if to study Harry's psyche just from its decoration.

"I wasn't aware that Professor McGonagall visited her former students at home so often," Snape commented, raising his eyebrow at Harry. On the fireplace mantel, surrounded by a few knickknacks, were several pictures of Harry, Theo, and Minerva at the house and in the garden.

"Er, well, she's my aunt now. So she drops by a few times a week."

"Your aunt," Snape repeated, in a tone of voice that Harry had often heard in potions class. "Is this an accolade of heroism? Choosing your own family?"

Momentarily stung, Harry looked down at his left wrist and closed his eyes for a second. The tattoo was still there, always there. He raised his head to say something, but Snape held up his hand.

"Mr Potter, if you will permit some leniency. Long-formed habits are difficult to break, even for ex-spies."

Harry watched Theo stare outside at the birds flying around in the garden, and finally nodded. Snape had hated him for years, hated the projection of who he thought Harry was, and yet had still kept his vow to protect Harry. No one came with a bastard switch that could just be turned off, so Harry figured he could allow a bit of clemency with Snape's nasty comments.

"Aunt Minerva doesn't have any other family, and after the headmaster…she missed having someone to keep in line. I asked her if she wanted to be my honorary aunt."

Snape had nothing to say to that, and Harry didn't feel like expounding on his choices. He liked the fact that Minerva McGonagall was his surrogate aunt, as she was a strong, no-nonsense woman who had always had Harry's best interests at heart.

Theo had wandered over to the window, and was singing at a bird sitting in the bird feeder.

"Why did you specialise in muggle money?" Snape asked, holding up an old turn-of-the-century shilling to the window's light.

"Because you can't fake wizarding money."

Snape picked up a counterfeit shilling and held it up to the real one, comparing the two.

"Of course you can, Potter. Muggles have been striking coins for centuries, even they could counterfeit them," Snape said, his voice dismissive.

"No, I mean, the goblins are in charge of the money, and they make it. Goblin made metal-craft is impossible to forge; remember the sword of Gryffindor? They know right away," Harry said, as he opened another envelope on his desk, containing a stack of twenty pound notes.

"I can't imagine there are that many muggle counterfeiting cases to provide a sufficient salary," said Snape. "Unless you've won the Wizarding National Lotto, and it wasn't reported."

"I'm barred from playing it," Harry shrugged. "And you'd be surprised." The stack of bills glowed faintly blue as Harry passed his wand over them, and he frowned. All were counterfeited.

…

_Small window-less office in the Ministry of Magic, 3_ _rd_ _floor, behind the lifts._

An intern of Mathilda Botsnair sits with an open application on her desk, large drafting pencil in hand and checklist to her left. She first consults the type of application, and neatly strikes out the boxes that do not apply. The money transfer is examined and deemed sufficient, and so she starts reading the application, circling problem areas with her pencil. Most of the boxes on her list are check marked, but the ones that aren't will be detailed in a letter to Severus Snape, requesting further information.

…

Small pebbles creaked beneath the feet of the man as he walked along the cragged stone wharf at the base of Azkaban. The small four foot circumference spot that apparition was allowed was at the bottom of the hill, and the rainy wet weather made the walk up rather precarious. The man had a cane, and had cast traction charms on his custom leather shoes in preparation for the walk. He followed two prison guards to the front gate, and produced a well-forged certificate of Thickey Laboratories.

While the guards checked over his certificate, he sat patiently in a small waiting room, adjusting the buttons of his robe. He smoothed his hand down his chest, faltering slightly over his larger belly, in a habit of nerves. He wore no uniform, nothing that would identify him with any company or group, but he made sure his clothing sat properly on his middle-aged frame. He was well aware that his appearance and his confidence would help his plans succeed with little difficulty.

A cold breeze of air kept blowing across the back of his bare neck and, unaccustomed to such short hair, the man pulled his collar up in irritation.

In less than ten minutes a door to the man's left opened, and a dirty figure shuffled through. The prisoner's hair was matted and filthy, the clothes were hanging off too-thin shoulders, and the beard was thick in patches. The eyes were absolutely lifeless.

"Barty Crouch," the man said, standing up and tapping his cane on the floor.

"Yeh," a guard said, unlocking the chains on Crouch's arms. Crouch remained oblivious to everyone in the room.

"I trust you understand our work at the laboratory, gentlemen. We'd much prefer to remain out of the press until our research is ready to be published."

They shrugged, and the man reached into his beige-brown robe lapel and withdrew two small drawstring bags, each containing ten galleons. He passed them over, shaking the hands of each guard.

"Sure thing. Let us know if you need any more to experiment on," the first guard said, pocketing the bag so fast that it was out of sight before his sentence finished. They stepped back, leaving the prisoner standing in the middle of the room.

The man withdrew his wand from his pocket, raising it and pointing it steadily at Barty Crouch Jr.

A small and satisfied smile flitted over the face of the man, just before he narrowed his eyes and spoke.

"Imperio."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *

  
Harry leaned against the dark black tiles outside the lower level meeting rooms, wearing a cadet cap to make himself less recognizable. Someone had left a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on a bench, and Harry was reading about the vandalism cases in muggle London. He found it privately amusing that the Auror division was investigating as well, citing muggle-baiting as a serious offense and breach of the wizarding statute of secrecy.

There was a photo of the muggle Met standing near the Barclay's bank at the Big Ben, looking serious and stern as they glared at the newspaper's camera. This article mentioned the current exchange rate, which was rising in favour of muggle pounds. Only one sentence mentioned the surge in muggle small note forgeries, and Harry figured it was because no one suspected a witch or wizard to be behind it. Not yet, anyway.

The door to his left suddenly banged open and Harry dropped the newspaper as a dark figure stormed toward him. He knew Snape was there to drop off additional information that had been required of him, but Harry wondered if something had gone wrong, going by the peeved look on Snape's face.

"What are you doing here?" Snape snarled, glancing back with a scowl at the Ministry's Patents and Licenses Office.

"I'm your guarantor, Professor. I came just in case they needed any information from me as well," Harry said, and he managed to keep his voice light. "How'd it go?"

Snape had started to stalk off down the corridor, causing other wizard and witches who had gathered for their license issues to press against the walls on either side.

"They thanked me for the additional information, and will let me know," Snape growled, likely repeating verbatim what the Ministry work witch had told him. He paced into the atrium and headed for the section of fireplaces that led to Diagon Alley.

"Snape!" Harry called, walking faster to keep up. He ignored the people staring at him, pointing out his scar. Harry rarely came to the Ministry, and only went to Diagon Alley under a light disguise.

"It's not your concern, Potter," Snape warned, before taking a light step into the fireplace and flaring away.

"Stupid stubborn – " Harry cursed, jumping in after him.

Harry followed Snape down Diagon Alley towards the dodgier end, keeping his head slightly down to avoid recognition. Harry had never been inside Snape's flat before, though he could tell by the man's stiff reactions every time Harry had mentioned it that it was not a place Snape was proud of.

"Look, if they denied your application the first time, we can appeal it, you know," Harry said, looking around the bare flat that he'd followed Snape into.

"It will be a fortnight before I even hear of a possible decision," Snape had thrown himself into one of the mismatched chairs at the rickety kitchen table, and seemed to be confused as to why he'd allowed Harry in.

Harry tapped his fingers on the tattoo on his wrist again, slowly walking around the one room flat. Snape had hung up his three spare sets of clothing, the only clothing he seemed to have, save for pyjamas, on hangers by the washroom door. His shoes, though well worn, had been polished and were lined up at the foot of the bed. His possessions were light, but all over the flat Harry could see notes, charts, diagrams, and recipes that Snape had been working on.

"Well, that's not very fair. How is anyone supposed to support themselves during this process?" Harry asked.

Snape sent him a withering look.

"That's no concern of the Ministry, Potter."

Harry walked into the kitchen and noted the single set of mismatched crockery that Snape had.

"That's rubbish. Maybe we can licence you in Ireland or something. If it's easier."

Snape looked up from the table, where it seemed he'd been trying to burn all his plans with just a glare.

"Yes, an exile to Ireland is exactly what I _need_."

They heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and Snape stiffened.

"Snape!" Someone bellowed Snape's name from the hallway, causing the wooden door to reverberate off its hinges. "Where are ya, you nasty old bugger?"

Snape drew his wand immediately, as did Harry, and stood on guard in his kitchen. It only took a few seconds until the door burst open, and a grimy, drunk wizard shambled into the room.

"There ya be! Come on, Mattison'll pay me 5 galleons just to touch your Mark there. Get yer arse downstairs."

The wizard took a few steps toward the kitchen, and tried to catch Snape's arm. The little of what colour Snape had had disappeared, and he cradled his arm protectively to his stomach.

"Remove yourself before I hex you," Snape growled.

"Don't touch him," Harry warned, his own wand pointed straight at the wizard's head. Short as he was, however, the drunken wizard didn't see him as much of a threat.

"Got a little boy toy to keep yourself safe? How cute," the wizard laughed, foam spit spraying from his mouth.

"Macto morsus," said Harry, flicking his wand toward the wizard and waiting as the curse set in.

"Pack your things," Harry said to Snape. The wizard crashed to the floor and howled in pain. Harry stupefied him, and the flat fell silent again.

"I do not need you to fight for me, Potter," Snape said, his voice a low angry whisper.

"You won't seem to fight for yourself," Harry said, his voice steady. He transfigured an old edition of the _Prophet_ into a duffle bag and handed it to Snape. "So pack them, or I will do it for you."

…

Snape did not speak another word to Harry. They'd apparated back to Islington; the duffle bag filled with Snape's books and his few meagre possessions. Theo had apparently fallen asleep half an hour earlier, and Hermione carefully handed him over before disapparating. Harry was surprised that she didn't stay to question Snape, but over the last two years Hermione had learned to time her inquisitions better. Harry led Snape upstairs immediately as he went to put Theo in his cot.

"I'll take you up in a moment," Harry said, slipping into Theo's room. He quickly changed Theo and put him in the cot, pulling his favourite baby blanket up to cover the little boy. Harry set a baby monitoring charm on the cot, and then flicked out the light as he went into the hall. At the end of the staircase was a narrower set of stairs to the third floor, and Harry started up with the duffle bag. Snape followed moodily, still not saying anything.

"It's two rooms, with a washroom. The front room isn't quite done yet, and you can use the kitchen downstairs," Harry explained. The attic wasn't shabby at all. The stairs led to a small hallway, with a large bedroom on the right to the front of the house, a smaller room that could be used as a den, and a small bathroom down the hall. The ceilings were tall, and the bathroom looked cold with all the ceramic tile, but it was much cleaner that Snape's old flat had likely been even when that building was new.

There were a few boxes in the large room, and Harry banished those to other parts of the house with a flick of his wand. There wasn't any furniture, and Snape was about to point that out, but Harry closed his eyes and called for Kreacher to come to the house.

"Kreacher, can you get me a wrought iron bed for the professor? He'll also need a good firm mattress, two sets of bed linens, two sets of towels, uhm, three bookcases, a desk, and a chair."

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small moleskin wallet, giving his stamp card over.

"Yes, master Harry," Kreacher replied, his eyes sizing up Snape.

Snape was still looking around the smaller of the two rooms, the bedroom. His arms were crossed over his chest, but Harry had come to realise that it was not just an imposing gesture – Snape used it as a defense mechanism as well.

"What was your rent at that flat?" Harry asked, trying to sound neutral.

Snape said nothing, instead turning to open one of his boxes from the duffle bag. It was a box full of photos, and Snape closed it before Harry could see them in detail.

"I could just go down and ask," Harry continued, checking to see that the wardrobes were clean.

"The next time you feel the urge to overstep your boundaries, keep in mind that I am no longer obligated to keep you alive," Snape said, his voice calm, collected, and annoyed.

"9 galleons, 6s and 23k per week here, utilities included," Harry said, coughing uncomfortably and ignoring Snape's threat.

"You can have the run of most of the house, except my room and the office. Try not to wake Theo when he's sleeping either, 'cause he's a loud crier. You can also make use of the garden, and brew in the basement during daytime hours."

"Satisfied your little heroic urges?" Snape said, his face blank and showing no acknowledgement to anything Harry had said.

Frustration flashed through Harry and he glared at Snape.

"Was that the best place you could afford?"

"My finances are still not up for discussion," Snape said, his eyebrows drawn together tautly.

"God you're bloody frustrating," Harry grumbled, scratching his arm. "One minute you want to socialise, the next you're arguing. Look, come down in an hour and we'll discuss house rules over dinner."

Snape sucked back air through his teeth, and Harry turned to leave, to let him unpack his things. Kreacher would be arriving back with the furniture hopefully soon.

"What about visitors, Mr Potter?" Snape asked, tapping his fingers on his arms and catching Harry off guard.

Harry hesitated at the stairs.

"I would prefer if you told me first. I value my privacy and our safety."

"Even at one in the morning?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I...uh, if I'm up still? If not, and they're dead set on visiting, I'm sure you could obscure the house details and location."

Snape stared at him for a moment before clarifying.

"I meant paramours, Potter."

When the penny dropped, Harry's cheeks blushed in a healthy tinge.

"Right, er…your discretion, but not too many."

Kreacher popped back into the room with an impressive amount of furniture, and Harry made his escape downstairs.

…

Snape started shelving his books while the house elf fought with the bed construction. Potter had looked absolutely bewildered at the idea of night visitors or paramours. Embarrassed, yes, but Snape had seen that look of confusion on Potter's face far too many times to mistake it for anything else. Preposterous. How could Potter not have known what Snape was talking about? He was the wizarding world's hero, and Snape knew for a fact that many accolades had been offered to the boy after the war.

Then again, from what Snape had seen of the house, there were absolutely no hints of a girlfriend, boyfriend, or romantic interest of any sort for Potter. There were never any confirmations in the newspapers, whenever they'd caught glimpses of Potter in Diagon Alley or the Ministry, solely rumours.

It was a matter that Snape put to the back of his mind, to investigate later. Raising his 'son' and putting his own love-life aside was a decidedly Gryffindor thing for Potter to do, but James Potter had certainly had his experiences with the women of Hogwarts, and Snape had a hard time believing that Harry Potter simply wasn't interested in the same.

…

Potter, it turned out, was a good cook.

Dinner was a steak and potato meal, and seemed to be included with his rent. Snape hadn't taken meals with anyone since he'd been headmaster at Hogwarts, and it felt oddly comfortable eating with another person. He didn't quite count the baby, as all Theo did was mash food on the highchair tray and make a mess in general.

The dining room was informal, sitting under the glass roof and enclosed by glass walls as a light summer rain passed over them. Potter mixed his conversation between Theo and Snape, explaining the routine of the house. It was evident that he wasn't a talker with dinner though, as silence fell over the table not long into the meal. Snape stared at the whiteboard off to the side of the room, noting that a maths lesson was due the next day and that there was homework.

"I had wondered," Snape suddenly said, cutting into his steak with relish, "how an almost nineteen year old was permitted to adopt such a young child. His grandmother is still alive, is she not?"

Theo gleefully ignored Snape, smashing up bits of banana with his cheerios on his highchair tray.

"No, she isn't," Potter answered simply. He wrestled with a sippy cup to make sure it didn't spill any of the milk, and handed it to Theo.

"She wasn't killed in the battle," Snape slowly said, reviewing his own hazy memories of the evening in question.

"No," Potter softly confirmed, pushing some cubes of cheese toward Theo on the tray.

"Two weeks after the battle, when Theo was a month and a half old, she asked me to babysit him. She called him Teddy then. I did, I'd been visiting with him every day since his parents had died. I didn't know she wanted me to babysit so she could go after Thorfinn Rowle, one of the death eaters that was at the battle of Hogwarts."

Potter cut up a piece of his own steak and chewed it slowly. Snape tried to remember how many death eaters had escaped imprisonment after the Battle of Hogwarts, but couldn't be certain on the correct number.

"She went to find him?" Snape asked, plucking a cheerio off his plate and curling his lip at Theo.

"She knew exactly where he was. She went to fight him."

"Of course. And the Ministry clearly had no desire to send trained Aurors after the leftover death eaters," Snape said, rolling his eyes.

"It was suicide by death eater," Potter interrupted. "There was a letter left for me with all her legal paperwork, which they gave me once I'd taken custody of Theo. She'd planned it."

"Are you actually angry at her for dying?" Snape asked, disbelief in his voice. To his left, Theo chatted away in non-sense baby talk.

"Yes! I understand why she did it, but I'm still angry. Theo had already lost his parents, and then he lost his grandmother right after. That's not fair to do to any child."

"Now you're projecting what happened – "

"Of course I am. How could I not?" Potter demanded.

"Then how could you understand?" Snape fired back.

"Because she was tired. I know that kind of tired, Snape," Potter said, pointing his fork at Snape. "And you know it too. Knowing some of your friends have died tired. Knowing that your family is gone tired. Knowing that you've given everything you can, and that once you're victorious, you're done kind of tired. Leaving the new generation to live in the world you created tired."

"Noooo, Daddy," Theo pouted, holding his grubby hands up toward Potter. The tension across the table seemed to have bothered him.

"Her husband, daughter, son-in-law – they were all murdered, Snape. Her family had disowned her long ago, and the only living relatives she had left were the Malfoys. And Theo. I understand why she did it. But it still makes me angry."

Potter picked Theo up out of the highchair and sat him on his lap, giving the baby a cooked carrot to chew on.

"You still have anger issues, Mr Potter," Snape finally proclaimed, before eating some mashed potatoes.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Potter exhaled, smiling sheepishly. He kissed the top of Theo's messy hair and got a handful of mashed carrot shoved toward his mouth for the trouble.

"It was still very selfish of her. But because she did it, I have a son now. And Theo won't grow up in a cupboard, and he won't grow up not knowing the truth about his parents."

Snape watched with unhidden disgust, the messy baby waving his dirtied hands about and giving Potter an awkward hug, a hug that seemed to please Potter to no end. He was only nineteen, but he appeared to be very comfortable in the role of father to Theo. The little monster would have been useful during Potter's Hogwarts years, Snape reflected, if that was what had caused Potter to stop being so damn involved about issues that didn't concern him.

Pushing his plate away, Snape considered his empty glass. Flicking his wand toward the fridge, Snape summoned some coca cola and a bottle of rum.

"Will you tell him the truth when he asks?" Snape asked, curious to the answer. He had realised only later in Potter's school career that Potter had not known anything about his parents, which made Snape feel the tiniest bit of guilt for always mocking the boy about his paternal characteristics. Not that he'd ever apologise for it; Snape figured it was in the past and if it had really bothered Potter, he'd not have offered Snape a place to live.

"Of course. His parents died helping to save the world. That's something for him to be proud of."

Snape nodded silently, taking a drink. He'd often wondered if anyone would pass down tales about what he'd done in the war, the truth about the sacrifices he'd made. Something about the way Potter was looking at him, about the way Potter had jumped to protect him earlier, told Snape that Potter would have. There was something Snape needed to say now, that was a year overdue.

"I have yet to thank you for your assistance after the final battle" Snape said, capping the rum and passing Potter a drink. He took another healthy gulp of his own, enjoying the burn of the rum down his throat.

"I…you're welcome," Potter replied, taking a sip from his glass and unaware at the conclusions Snape had come to regarding him. "You know, when I was almost dead, Dumbledore called me brave. I don't think…that was you. You were the bravest person in this war."

"Hardly," Snape scoffed, eyeing his own drink. "I had a debt to pay. You willingly sacrificed yourself, and faced the Dark Lord by yourself."

"But I didn't. That's what I mean," Potter countered, bouncing Theo slightly on his knee "That's how I knew you were still alive."

"Potter. I have not drunk enough for that to have made any sense."

Snape filled his drink again, waiting for Potter to explain what he meant. The rain was stopping outside, and Snape felt at ease in the kitchen. Unlike his temporary flat, he didn't feel the urge to be on constant alert.

"Dumbledore put the resurrection stone in the very first snitch I ever caught as a seeker," Potter started. Snape topped off his drink with more rum. "After I saw your memories, I walked into the forest, and told the snitch that I was about to die. It opened, and I used the stone."

Snape watched him intently, listening to the clock in the office ticking away as fireflies buzzed outside the window.

"My mum and Dad, and Sirius and Remus, they all appeared," Potter stared straight ahead, at the amber bottle of rum on the table. "I wasn't alone. They walked with me to meet Voldemort."

Snape was sitting with a neutral expression on his face, processing what Potter was telling him. Perhaps he'd been damned long ago, and this boy, this man, was destined to receive whatever help he could get as the chosen hero. Snape focused his glare outside, at the wet tree leaves sagging under the weight of the water droplets. Snape felt his insides clench; his chest tighten, and he stared at the leaves to stop the one tear that had gathered in his eye from escaping. For all Snape had sacrificed, for his entire life given, Lily Evans had not come to comfort him as he had lain dying.

"That's how I knew you were still alive," Potter said, giving a ghost of a smile as he played with Theo's hair. "You didn't appear."

"I was busy expiring," said Snape, as if it was an inconvenience he'd suffered. The moisture in his eyes was receding, but his gut was still clenched over Lily's abandonment. Snape briefly considered using legilimency on Potter to see where the boy had dropped the resurrection stone, so he could demand Lily's justification for leaving him again.

"That's why I sent Kreacher for you," Potter explained, interrupting Snape's thoughts. He took a large sip of his drink and skilfully avoided Theo's stretching hands.

"I imagine Black was pleased to know his house elf was saving my life," Snape said, his voice calmer than he felt.

"Whether he was or wasn't, he didn't mention anything about it."

"Nana!" Theo cheered, pointing at his highchair. "Dada, nana!"

Potter smiled again, wandlessly levitating the mashed banana mess over to his place at the table. Snape banished what was left on Potter's plate to make room for the banana and received a thankful nod.

Snape finished his second rum and coke, and studied Potter carefully. He seemed to be a contradiction, parts of him matured beyond his years, and parts of him still in the boyish realm of his schoolboy years. The man was definitely evident, in the way he cared for Theo, took care of his job and his business. But Snape had also seen the games in the living room, the large movie collection, and heard stories from Arthur Weasley about a strange muggle hobby called paintball that Potter had taken up for fun.

"I have often wondered if vengeance in the afterlife is negated," Snape uttered, his voice low. He'd never drank much during the war, as intoxication would have clouded his judgement in a very precarious situation, and he found that he didn't have much tolerance for the alcohol now.

Potter leaned his head down and kissed the top of Theo's messy hair, which was black and longish. Longer than Potter's currently was, but his eyes were the same bright green as Potter's. Snape watched as Potter stretched his arm out, pulling the sleeve up toward his elbow. Potter's eyes were slightly shiny.

"These are the last words he ever said to me," Potter said, very quietly.

Snape regarded the tattoo, reading the clear serif font easily and realising that his suspicions about revenge were likely right.

_We are a part of you, invisible to anyone else._

Snape nodded to Potter and stood up, done with sharing for the evening. He'd told himself after Potter had offered the accommodation that he would make the effort to get to know Potter, to really see who the student he'd tormented for six years was. But Snape was a solitary man by nature, and he'd taken in enough information to process for the night.

…

"Harry! Who the hell is Pythagoras and why should I care about him?"

Ron's demand was the first thing out of his mouth after apparating into the kitchen.

"Boo," Theo said, poking his finger at the back glass door. There was a large frog in the garden, sitting serenely on a stone near the door and completely oblivious to Theo's gibbering and pointing.

"Some Greek maths bloke," Harry answered back, plunking his maths textbook on the kitchen table. Arthur would be by any moment to start his lesson, but it didn't take long for either Ron or Harry to start chatting about paintball.

"I got this brilliant new gun," Ron started, holding his hands out in a guesstimate of the gun's size. "It's perfect for stealth attacks."

Ron tossed his notebook on the table and twisted the chair so he sat in it backward.

"Stealth? They're all pretty loud, aren't they? Ratatat Ratatat," Harry mimicked, holding his hands up in a gun gesture.

"This one's got a silencer. George will never know what hit him," Ron grinned, holding his hand up as if he was looking down the sights of his paintball gun.

"Pew pew, pewpewpew!"

Three soft pops sounded as Hermione, Molly, and Arthur apparated into the kitchen. Theo was all laughs as Molly picked him up and tickled him, squealing loudly and clapping. Harry stood to give him a quick kiss goodbye, as Hermione took out her notebooks and Arthur set up his notes on the whiteboard.

"Be good, Monkey," Harry said, giving Molly Theo's diaper bag.

"Say bye bye, Daddy," Molly stage whispered to Theo.

"Hmmmgh! Buh Daddy!" Theo repeated. Harry waved as Molly apparated them out to the Burrow, for playtime with Ginny and the twins.

"Ignore Pythagoras and his theory for now," Arthur started, his tone easy going. "We'll go over that again on Friday. Today we're going to talk logic puzzles and how you can use mathematics to solve them."

Ron immediately perked up; as a chess player he often used logic to guess what his opponents' plays were going to be. Hermione, as Harry well remembered from first year, was rather proficient at solving logic puzzles. Harry, on the other hand, was usually nothing but frustrated by them. It was the real reason he didn't want to get involved any further with any of his counterfeiting cases – while the mysteries at Hogwarts had been relatively straight forward to figure out (Voldemort was evil, Voldemort's henchmen were evil, etcetera), real life crime had the additional annoyance of not needing a logical motive at all.

Arthur tapped the board with his wand and announced that a Honeydukes' grab bag would go to the winner. Harry opened his notebook and set to copying the puzzle down, already at a lost as to how maths would help him.

_The day before yesterday, Edward was two. Next year he'll be five. When is his birthday?_

Harry stared at his piece of paper for the entire ten minutes Arthur gave them to work on the puzzle, only managing to draw a skinny tree with a birthday cake underneath by the time time was called. Neither Ron nor Hermione had the right answer either, so Harry felt a bit better.

Near the end of Arthur's maths lesson, Harry thought of the counterfeiting case he was currently working on.

"Mr Weasley, I've a problem for you."

Arthur looked immediately interested, and handed Harry the whiteboard marker. Underneath the birthday puzzle, Harry wrote out what he knew of the case.

"£10 and £20 notes are counterfeited, and lotto tickets are bought with the money. Mostly scratch tickets, but once in a while a ticket for a draw is purchased. Whoever is doing it is targeting smoke shops, fill stations, and newsstands that sell lotto tickets; basically, high traffic shops."

Harry drew a triangle on the board, with one point the counterfeited money, and a second point showing the lotto tickets. He put a question mark on the third point of the triangle, pointing at it with the marker.

"But how does that make him a profit?" Harry asked, staring at the board in confusion. Hermione reminded him that it could be a woman doing the counterfeiting, but Harry didn't think it was. He didn't voice his opinion to Hermione though, because he had no proof and remembered how well she'd taken his insistence that the Half Blood Prince was male.

Arthur had a twinkle in his eye as he eyed the problem, the look of a man who'd spent many hours in a back garden shed, figuring out the mechanics of muggle small home appliances with only an out-dated muggle textbook to consult.

"I think you're looking at the wrong end of the lotto tickets," Ron said slowly, rising from the table and taking the marker from Harry. He erased the lotto tickets and drew them as a secondary arrow sticking out from the triangle. In the original triangle drawing, he drew a backward pound symbol.

"He pays…"

"Or she," Hermione interrupted.

"Whoever. They pay for the ticket with a tenner, right?" Ron said, tapping the top of the triangle. "Gets a two pound scratch ticket, and gets eight pounds change."

Ron tapped the second point of the triangle, and drew an untidy 8.

"That's clean change he's gotten in return for his fake tenner."

"What are the odds on muggle lotto tickets?" Arthur asked, one hand under his chin as he thought out something.

"On a £2 scratch ticket, anywhere from one in three-ish to one in seven," Hermione immediately answered, before blushing. "My dad likes to play sometimes."

"So he gets clean change," Arthur said, ignoring Hermione's look at the pronoun, "and a fairly good chance at making more money with the ticket."

"But they're not very high prizes, right? I mean, most likely it's five or ten quid in return," Harry pointed out.

"But he started with nothing," Ron said, pointing at the top of the triangle and the backwards £. "Sort of. Whatever it cost him to counterfeit the money."

"Alright. So whoever this is spends the money to make some muggle notes. He buys lotto tickets with the cash, from high traffic shops that won't check the bills? Or maybe if they do, they just refuse it and ask him for other ways of paying."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "She has the clean money now she can use for whichever, plus the profit she makes from the scratch card winnings. Which is smart if you think about it, because it's not enough winnings to make anyone suspicious. She could have been doing this for a while."

Harry moved into the kitchen part of the room, to grab a small snack for them. "So it wasn't a huge conspiracy after all. Just greed."

"Money is almost always a motive," Arthur said, his voice returning to teacher mode.

"How'd they find out the money was being counterfeited so much?" Hermione asked.

"Just bog standard bank checks," Harry shrugged, depositing the bowl of crisps on the table and picking up his pencil to start taking more notes. "I don't know why I got the idea a wizard or witch was involved, as other than the quality of the fakes, there's not anything to suggest it."

"You're thinking too hard, Harry," Arthur said, smiling.

….

"You're late, Ashley," the man said, running his finger along the rim of his glass. The pub was nearly empty, save for the half-deaf bar owner watching football on the small black and white telly at the end of the bar.

"Work ran late, didn't it?" Ashley said, slipping into the booth and keeping a wary eye on Barty Crouch Jr. "What's wrong w'him?"

The man glanced nonchalantly to his right, at the still form of Crouch.

"No more than what he deserves," the man replied, his voice relaxed. "Have you been watching the boy?"

Ashley skimmed the menu on the table, grunting at the lack of his favourite beer. "Same as always. Works at random, takes the little one out sometimes. Hard to tell when, innit, 'cause he leaves from the back garden."

The man seemed to take a minute to process this, drinking the murky liquid that filled his glass. Crouch continued to sit beside him, a lifeless zombie.

"Has he recognized you?"

"No," Ashley answered, removing his cap and scratching his head. "Look, this isn't…"

"It's alright," the man said, sipping his drink. He made no other move to placate Ashley. "There's nothing illegal in observing people."

"It's not the watchin' I'm worried about," Ashley mumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the man and itching to leave the table.

"Till next week then?" the man asked, withdrawing a stack of muggle pounds from his pocket. Ashley's eyes never left them as the man transfigured a serviette into an envelope and stuffed the money inside.

"Sure," Ashley nodded, taking the offered envelope. "This batch is legal, yeah? Some blond bloke in the shops yesterday in front of me tried to pass a fake tenner…"

"All legal," the man confirmed, holding up his empty palms in innocence.

"Sure, sure," Ashley agreed, tipping his hat and leaving the bar quickly.

The man continued to enjoy his drink, tapping his fingers on the table and listening to the players argue on the telly. He turned to Crouch and pretended to offer his drink, with a twisted smile.

"Ah, but you wouldn't even deserve cheap swill in life, never mind this finery in your current…state."

The man withdrew another wad of money, this one containing only a few ten- and twenty-pound notes. He placed it on the table in front of Crouch and pointed his wand, casting the imperius spell.

"Go shopping again, Mr Crouch. I feel another lucky streak in the lotto."

The rest of the man's orders were drowned out by the cheers on the telly, as Man U scored a penalty goal.

…

"Six little monkeys sleeping on the bed and the little one said: roll over! Roll over!" Harry sang, tickling Theo's feet. It was almost bath time, and Theo had been a bit cranky. Harry, from experience, knew bath time would be much easier with a happy Theo.

"So they all rolled over and one fell out and bumped his head and said!"

He whisked his light fingers over Theo's bare belly, smiling as the little guy giggled, his green eyes following Harry's.

" _Please_ remember, to tie a knot in your pyjamas. Single beds are only made for," Harry grabbed Theo's toes, "one, two three, four, five little monkeys!"

Theo squealed, clapping his hands above Harry's. Harry continued singing as he carried Theo to the washroom, placing him in the warm tub. He continued singing as Theo splashed in the water, little monkey toys swimming around in the water with him.

"You are making a racket," Snape grumbled, appearing in the doorway.

"Heeeeethththrba!" Theo said, pointing a soapy finger at Snape. He giggled again when one of the toy monkeys scrambled up over his tummy.

"That child is ridiculously easy to amuse," Snape commented, crossing his arms.

"That's my goal," Harry replied, smiling. He soaped up Theo's hair and avoided the soapy wet arms that were splashing water everywhere.

"In any event," Snape said, clearing his throat, "I have received word from the Ministry of Magic, and my application has proceeded to the next level."

Harry looked behind his shoulder quickly and smiled.

"That's great."

"Ater! Ater!"

"Maybe they'll fast track it for you," Harry finished, using his hands to cup water over Theo's head to rinse off the soap.

"Perhaps," Snape said, nodding his head in satisfaction.

"Have you thought about the science thing? We still need a teacher to complete our A levels," Harry asked, using the bath flannel to scrub Theo down.

"I am frankly surprised, Mr Potter, that you are willing to submit yourself to my teaching methods again," Snape said, in a very dry tone.

Harry smiled at the sarcasm, keeping his eyes on Theo in the tub.

"It's Harry. If you teach like the Half-Blood Prince, we'll be all sorted," Harry said, avoiding Theo's splashes.

"Science by correspondence school," Snape said, sounding mock impressed. "What new great opportunity for accidental meltdowns."

"Ha ha," Harry replied, as Snape left the bathroom.

"One little monkey sitting in the bed and heeeee said," Harry murmured, pulling the plug to the tub.

"I've got the whole bed, to myself, I've got the whole bed, to myself, I've got the whole bed to myself."

"Hmmmmmmmmmma," Theo hummed. Harry picked him up out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel, holding Theo close to his chest. Theo stuck his first two fingers into his mouth, and sighed. Harry was quite pleased that Snape's application was finally getting somewhere, but he wondered if Snape would up and leave as soon as his shop was off the ground. Harry loved living with Theo in this house, after all, it was one he'd spent four months looking for, but having dinner with Snape the night before had been somewhat pleasant. He might be going mad, but it was rather nice to have someone else in the house to converse with.

….

Harry showed up early at New Scotland Yard the next day, having dropped Theo off at Hogwarts for the day. Minerva had Theo-proofed the headmistress's office at school, creating a small pen area with toys and soft blankets for Theo to play in while she sorted paperwork.

He'd apparated to a disillusioned blue call box on Palmer Street, one of the Ministry apparition points throughout London. The weather was partially sunny, for the first time in nearly two weeks.

"Mr Potter! Had enough of the Welsh, have ya?" Enid Smythly said, welcoming Harry back into the Special Investigations Unit. She held a freshly buttered scone in her hand that smelled delicious to Harry.

"They're a bit quieter than you lot over at the Mint," Harry replied, a teasing smile on his face. He was dressed in his usual slacks and dress shirt, with a thin green tie.

"Can't be too quiet in London, lad," Enid said, patting him on the shoulder. She walked with him back to the supervisor's office, where Harry was going to submit his reports on the money he'd checked. In the past week he'd inspected more than ninety notes, and written a detailed report on what security features failed on the copied bills. As they were walking down, Harry was only half-listening to Enid's tale on her latest great capture, letting his eyes wander to the suspects board that was on the back wall. One picture in the middle stood out and Harry stopped dead, staring at the blurry features from the security camera picture.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, pointing straight at the scruffy and skinny looking man. He had dead eyes, a gaunt face, short chin, and a mess of stringy hair covering a large forehead.

"Oh, that's Zombie man," Enid joked, flipping the top page up to show another picture of the man walking on an odd slant-half shuffle into the store.

"That bloke passed three or four of the bills we sent you yesterday," Enid explained, wiping crumbs from the scone off her shirt. "Know his name?"

"No," Harry lied, staring into the unmistakable face of Barty Crouch, Jr. He was certain that men without a soul had no need for lotto tickets, but there Crouch was, in a Mace Express shop just outside Lewisham. "No, I…he just looks like someone I ran into once before."

"Oh," Enid replied, rapping on the supervisor's door. "Pity."

Harry spent the rest of the day on edge, a small note in his pocket reminding him to talk to Kingsley immediately about Crouch, and find out where Crouch had been sent after the Dementors' Kiss.

…

_Front step next to two cold milk bottles, Potter House, Alwyne Street, London._

A formal letter sits on the stoop, the left corners of the envelope curling with the dampness from the sweating milk bottles. The letter was dropped off by a Ministry owl, detailing the time and date of a hearing for the application of one Severus Snape. Mathilda Botsnair will preside over the hearing, and a panel of six other witches and wizards will sit in for counsel. Botsnair has a history of grilling potential shop owners on their business plans, though she is also known to ignore all house affiliations, social standing, and age of applicants. She prefers sports to theatre, radio over books, loathes reporters, and has a fondness for specialty food shop owners. She has approved two hundred and fourteen applications for the Mortar Grant Foundation, and appears to be neutral towards potions and apothecaries.

* * *

*macto morsus - to inflict biting stings

also, the solution to the riddle will be posted with the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward's birthday is the 31st of December.

  
Potter's cellar was completely devoid of any recent renovations. The stone floor was slanted and slightly damp in one corner, though with the amount of rain drenching London this August, Snape couldn't fault the old stones. There was a row of boxes against the back wall, set with a preservation charm, that Snape suspected were full of items from Theodore Lupin's parents.

Snape unearthed an old wooden gardener's table and lengthened it, giving it the same strengthening spells he'd placed on his own worktable at home. Snape had salvaged two cauldrons from his house, and set those up in the centre of the table. His most recent experimentation journal was placed on the right side of the table, where he always kept it, and his mother's old set of scales were placed on the left.

Snape had been able to replace several of the basic ingredients that any potions master should have, and hoped to slowly replace the rest as he made money with his shop. He didn't normally like to rely on uncertain avenues of income, but he simply couldn't bankrupt himself at the moment buying dragon scales and limewort stamens.

Snape lit the cauldron's fire stand and began calmly adding ingredients, adjusting instinctively for the higher amount of water in the air. The rain was gently bouncing against the cellar windows, providing a rhythm to Snape's stir count. He was making the Draught of Peace, a simple enough potion that he'd used many times throughout the war and one that people were still using to ease back into peace times.

It was a Monday, and Snape's interview for his business licence was on Thursday. The appointment was in the afternoon, and Snape planned to arrive much earlier than stated on his summons. The Ministry had a habit of changing times at will, and the whole process unnerved Snape in general.

He carefully unscrewed a round specimen bottle, slipping a thin pair of tweezers inside and snatching a bullet ant as quickly as possible. The potion required a live ant, and Snape was always fast enough to ensure that no ants escaped when he opened the bottle. He had no desire to test if the bite of the ant matched its name.

As much as he hated the very idea, he knew that having Potter at the hearing would remind the judge that Snape had sound references, and that he was a war hero like Potter was. At the very least, it would remind them that Snape had a guarantor that could help support the shop when times were rough.

Not that Snape would _ever_ ask Potter to help out financially.

The cauldron started to bubble, greyish green liquid rolling quicker as large bubbles floated to the top and burst, emitting a sickly sweet smell. Snape cut the flame out underneath the cauldron and placed a cover over the top, airtight enough to keep the liquid boiling for another twenty minutes. This was the last potion he planned to make before his hearing – Snape didn't know if samples were required, but he had always believed in being prepared. It was a lesson quickly learned at Hogwarts.

Snape checked his experiment journal once again, noting the scribbles and angry cross outs that littered the back pages. One page was left unmarked, a short list of four ingredients and eight steps. Snape tapped his wand against the list, coming to a decision. He had three days to kill and some money left from the insurance claim. Unlike the last experiment, none of the ingredients in this potion were explosive.

Snape walked slowly upstairs, making mental notes to himself as he went. He heard pouting as he came closer to the top, and found Potter and Theo in the kitchen. Potter was wearing a light rain jacket with his jeans, and Theo was protesting his blue rain jacket.

"Nooooo. No no no no," Theo asserted, squirming away from Potter.

"Theodore Potter," Potter said, crossing his arms in an eerily similar stance to Snape's. "Do you want to go outside?"

Theo, who was squatting down in his orange Wellies, tracing his finger down the wooden crease line on the floor, looked up hopefully at Potter.

"Out!"

"You must wear your jacket then," Potter concluded, stepping toward the toddler. Theo gave a good pout, but stayed relatively still to allow the jacket. Snape had always thought that Potter would cater to every whim of any child of his, but he was relieved to find that this was not the case.

Snape stepped into the kitchen, under the watchful eye of Theo, and picked up an apple from the fruit bowl. He only had an errand to run at the garden store, and would wait out the rain a bit before leaving. Potter startled and looked up at Snape, with an unexpected smile.

"We're off for a walk. Feel like going?"

"Perhaps you hadn't noticed, but it's raining," Snape replied, his voice slightly sneering.

"Little rain never killed anyone," Potter replied, grinning. "Except the Wicked Witch of the West."

Potter scooped Theo up and walked with him to the front door, where a foldable pram was waiting. It had a large umbrella attached to it, which covered most of the seat. Snape watched as Potter easily manoeuvred Theo into the pram, strapping him in and casting an impervious charm over the whole contraption. Theo could watch the rain, but he wouldn't get wet or cold with the spell.

"Come on with us, I've some news from the Ministry to tell you," Potter continued, trying once again to get Snape's company. He cast the same charm on himself that was on the stroller, and put a rain hat on that matched Theo's jacket.

"Well, aren't you just a lonely housewife's wet dream," Snape muttered, summoning his jacket as Potter struggled to get the pram down the front steps of the house. "Very well, but after the walk I am going to the garden shop."

"Alright," Harry said, pushing Theo out into the light rain.

…

Snape glided through the garden centre with the ease of one who was very familiar with herbology. He had sharp eyes for ingredients, seeming to target the unremarkable and downright ugly plants over the more colourful and aesthetically appealing. Potter was following him rather closely, inspecting the plants that Snape pointed out and actually listening to what Snape had to say about them. The walk to the store had been very quiet, as Potter had been lost in thought and Snape wasn't prone to casual conversation by default. Potter seemed to be ready for conversation now.

"What happens to people who've been kissed?" Potter asked, keeping his voice low as he inspected a Venus flytrap.

Snape gave him a blank look.

"An amount of saliva is exchanged and depending on the company, another is initiated," Snape responded, dryly.

"No," Harry huffed, though his eyes shone. "Kissed by a dementor."

Snape looked at him sharply, his fingers poised over the little information card of a plant. There was no one around them though, and Theo was fast asleep in the pram.

"The body becomes soulless, and is in effect, a living cadaver. Thank you, Mr Potter, for paying _such_ good attention in my class."

Potter gave him a dirty look and fiddled with the leaves of a hosta plant.

"You know that case I'm working now? Identifying all those forged muggle notes?"

"Vaguely," Snape replied, checking the stalk of a plant he was interested in.

"Well, they have a photo of the guy who is passing them, a security cam shot," Potter added. He was still trying to keep his voice down, though the garden centre was mostly empty. Not many had ventured out to the shop in the rain.

"It's Barty Crouch Jr."

Snape's hand fell still as he looked up and across the row of specialty plants. He could hear Theo humming in his sleep in the pram, and Potter was pretending to check out the hosta as if he were going to purchase it. Rain splattered on the green house roof overhead, and Snape closed his eyes as he tried to recall all the details of the night he'd first revealed to Potter that he was a death eater. The night he'd gone back to the Dark Lord.

"Crouch was kissed at Hogwarts," Snape murmured, still looking ahead. "And taken to Azkaban. He was left there when the Dark Lord freed his servants."

Out of the corner of his eye Snape saw Potter nod, and he straightened up. An employee of the garden centre had spotted them and was making her way over.

"I told Kingsley that I saw him. Kingsley checked the records at Azkaban, but Crouch's file has been conveniently lost. If Crouch has no soul, how dangerous is he to us?"

Snape looked over at Potter and noted his defensive stance around Theo and the pram. He wondered for a second if Potter would ever live without worry again.

"There are very few limits to the Imperius curse, Potter," Snape answered quietly.

"Why hello! Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?" the employee asked, her smile bright and her hair filled with plastic clips with bright flowers on them.

"I require a pitcher plant," Snape informed her, giving a pained smile that he reserved for sales people. She gulped in surprise, but recovered quickly.

"Certainly, sir. Any particular variety?"

"Nepenthes ampullaria," answered Snape.

"I'll have to order it in from Devon, but it should come in this week," the clerk said, scribbling on a notepad. She smiled at both Snape and Potter again, and looked fondly at Theo in the pram. "Bit dangerous to have around when the little one starts walking."

"He'll learn to leave it alone," Snape sneered, ignoring Potter's annoyed look. Potter continued to skim over the details of the hosta – something he seemed to genuinely be interested in purchasing.

"It's so lovely to see two dads out shopping together. With this weather, we've not had many families out," the clerk continued, writing out her order form for Snape's plant. She seemed to be the type of person that chatted when she was nervous.

"We're not a couple," Snape immediately corrected, finding Potter's surprise blush to be amusing.

"Yeah, we're not…he's a roommate," Potter insisted.

"Oh, my apologies," the clerk said, slightly flustered. She handed the order form to Snape and told him to take it to the front desk. "Have a good day out...shopping then."

"Cheers," Potter blurted, pushing the pram toward the front of the store. Snape followed at a leisurely pace, enjoying Potter's clumsy embarrassment.

…

Harry stood at the kitchen table, his hips swaying to the music on the radio as he sliced a large butternut squash. Theo was in the playpen that rested against the far kitchen wall, holding on to a stuffed monkey toy and bouncing to the music. Harry had a wizarding station playing, because he was tired of Theo's baby songs and was in a subdued mood.

The squash was layered onto onions in a casserole dish at the same time that Harry heard a large thud from downstairs, followed by some grumbling. Snape had gone down to the cellar after his return, working on another potion that he refused to tell Harry about.

"Daddy!" Theo called, waving the monkey at Harry.

"Hi, Monkey boy," Harry called back.

Harry continued layering squash and vegetables into the bowl, waiting to hear if any other sounds would come from the basement. Harry figured Snape was working on another potion to rid himself of the dark mark. Neville had given Harry a comprehensive book of muggle and magical plants when he'd gotten full custody of Theo, as a sort of parental watch-book for what was brought into the house. Snape's pitcher plant that he'd ordered earlier was detailed in the book, and Harry had learned that the liquid that was in the pitcher part of the plant was rather caustic and ideal for decomposition. He could only imagine the sort of effect that would have on anyone's skin, and made a mental note to keep the plant as far away from Theo as possible.

Harry finished layering the lamb stew casserole and placed it in the oven. Outside the trees were thrashing against the glass eating area, bending at will to the strong wind. Harry hummed along with the song and wiped the counter quickly, before turning to pick Theo up. It was darker than normal out, early evening and the rain still hadn't stopped. Some parts of lower lying London were facing flood threats, but Harry knew their house was safe.

"Your Aunt Hermione and I danced to this in the year we were in hiding," Harry told Theo, swaying slowly with the little boy in his arms. Theo rested his head against Harry's shoulder and watched the storm rage outside.

 _O children_  
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice  
Children  
Rejoice, rejoice

Theo scrunched his fingers into Harry's hair as Harry reminisced quietly on his time in hiding, his feet still shuffling as they danced in the kitchen and the casserole bubbled in the oven.

"This song kept us from going crazy," Harry said, kissing the side of Theo's head and twirling them around. "It kept us alive."

There was a flash of shadowed movement in the shrubs of the back garden and Harry squinted his eyes to see what was out there. Likely just a neighbour's cat taking refuge from the rain in the undergrowth. Harry took a step closer to the window and scanned the back shrubs of the garden as he sung the chorus of the song. He had many wards on the house, safety wards to keep out any enemies or unbalanced people looking for retribution from the war. The wards were still quiet, however, so no wizard or witch was trying to trespass.

"Ooooooh," Theo sang, keeping with the song.

Harry smiled and swayed a bit faster.

" _O children_ ," Harry sang along.

"Sape!" Theo suddenly said, pointing his finger behind Harry's shoulder. Snape stood in the door, his dark eyes watching Harry's every move. Harry felt under inspection, and slightly foolish for being caught dancing. Not foolish enough to regret the dancing, though, as he'd felt like doing it and Theo always enjoyed a dance hug.

"How'd the experiment go?" Harry asked, turning away from the window.

"Your ventilation in the cellar is inadequate," Snape answered, avoiding the original question. Theo waved at Snape and Harry found it slightly amusing that Snape was puzzled by the direct attention.

"You can say hi to him, he doesn't bite," said Harry in a slightly teasing tone. It was amazing how much had changed in a year that he could tease Snape and not fear a curse in return. Nonetheless, Snape didn't appear to believe Harry at all. "Dinner should be ready in an hour."

"That will be suitable," Snape said, folding a piece of parchment and placing it in his pocket. He was wearing his regular robes, and Harry wondered if Snape ever overheated in the summer.

"Do you have the security photo of Mr Crouch?"

Harry blinked and kept dancing.

"No, it's at New Scotland Yard. Why?"

Snape looked smug, there was no other way to describe it, as he slowly folded his arms and lifted his head every so slightly.

"Barty Crouch is unable to function independently. He is, however, perfectly suitable for the Imperius curse, as he has no will to fight it. Perhaps you will see whomever is controlling Crouch in that photo."

"Like a remote control car," Harry mused, mussing up Theo's hair with his hand.

"Not a completely incorrect comparison," Snape acknowledged. "I will be preparing my defense for the hearing. Do not interrupt me on punishment of death."

Snape twisted and strode out of the kitchen, his tailored coat keeping fit to his form as he went.

"Bit of an odd duck, you think?" Harry asked Theo, as they both watched him go.

…

"Eneneneneneneneh!" Theo proclaimed, waving his spoon around and flicking droplets of chocolate pudding at Harry. It was Thursday morning, and the rain had stopped for a few hours.

"Really?" Harry asked him, smiling. "I didn't know you took such a stance on pudding."

"Neeneh!"

Harry was about to reply when he saw Snape sweep into the kitchen, wearing black trousers, a shale-blue oxford shirt, and a light black travelling cloak draped over his shoulders. It looked nothing like his heavy Hogwarts robes, and Harry thought it made Snape look a good decade younger.

"Wow," Harry commented, deftly avoiding getting stuck with the chocolate spoon. Snape was checking something in the wizarding directory on the counter, and stiffened at Harry's comment.

"I don't need your mockery, Potter."

"I…what? I'm not mocking you," Harry protested. Theo had gone quiet, inspecting Snape's outfit as well, it seemed.

Snape stood straight and flashed narrowed eyes at Harry, as if he were trying to figure out Harry's motives.

"You're not bringing the baby to the hearing," Snape said, his voice domineering.

"Of course not," Harry answered, rolling his eyes. "Aunt Minerva is coming over to watch him. Said she needed some time away from Hogwarts to do work."

Snape looked slightly uncomfortable at that idea, as if he didn't wish to be present when Minerva McGonagall arrived. Harry wondered what Snape had done to tick her off, but then figured it was likely Snape's disappearing act over the past year. Minerva still felt horrible for how she'd treated Snape during the last year of Voldemort's reign, and Harry could understand wanting to avoid that awkward conversation.

Snape picked up his worn Hogwarts satchel and fastened his cloak, smoothing out the front material.

"If you are still coming, keep quiet in the spectator's area, Potter," Snape said, disapparating so fast that he disappeared into a flash of robes.

…

_Level 10, Smallest courtroom on the right, Ministry of Magic._

An intern from the Magical Business Liaison and Licencing Office enters the courtroom and delivers information packets to the front seats of the judge's panel. There are five panel members that will be hearing applications today, and each receives folders of information from the applicant. The intern places fresh carafes of water on the table, as well as small plates of biscuits. Fresh note parchment is placed at each spot, along with three quills and a sealed bottle of ink. The intern checks that the case information packets are in order; thirteen applications for shop licenses for everything from children's wizard wear to a broom service centre and a colour-change flower shop. The application for Severus Snape's owl-order potion shop sits in the lower third of the pile. The intern is just about to leave when she remembers one final task, conjuring a footstool and placing it under the centre spot of the table, where Mathilda Botsnair will sit.

…

Snape's shoes echoed quietly as he walked down the marbled tiled hall, his feet steadily taking him toward the courtrooms he'd sat in as an angry spotted teen. Nineteen year old Severus Snape had kept his shoulders drawn and his hair covering his face, a defensive defiance that had kept him away from the attention of a few over enthusiastic bail-wizards.

This time he was not accompanied by the whispered tread of Albus Dumbledore, but instead the irregular and somewhat hesitant steps of Harry Potter. Snape placed his hand on the solid black courtroom door, feeling the energy of many past accused making their last pleas for freedom.

"Come in!" a female voice called, jarring Snape from the melancholia he'd slipped into. It was a smaller courtroom, with only two rows of benches, and Snape was not greeted by either dementors nor prejudiced senior Wizengamot members. Instead, a panel of five curious middle-aged witches regarded him from behind the bench, surrounded by parchment, charts, and newspapers.

Potter coughed from somewhere behind him, and Snape's arm twitched as Potter pushed him toward the centre of the room.

"Good afternoon," Snape greeted, finding his teaching voice. "Professor and Potions Master Severus Snape to defend my application for an owl-order custom potions shop."

The centre witch, who Snape assumed was Mathilda Botsnair, adjusted the bun keeping her silvery brown hair pulled tight and focused her eyes directly on Snape.

"Someone suitably qualified," she said, and Snape was surprised at the lack of derision in her voice. "Go on then, prove to me why we need your shop."

Snape removed his printed business plan, his marketing material, his budget, and his forecasted earnings. He was momentarily unsure of which document to start with, but noted Potter smiling smugly out of the corner of his eye. Instinct took over, and Snape slipped into lecture mode as he determined to prove that he knew best.

"So you will provide Wolfsbane anonymously by owl order," Botsnair confirmed, after listening to Snape lecture for twenty minutes. He had kept calm, but she was persistent and paid attention to very minute details, traits he had found irritating in students like Hermione Granger.

"How will you retain anonymity when you receive payments?"

"By using a postal drop box," Snape immediately answered. "Though I will make it known that I prefer to consult with my clients, due to health concerns with reactions. I assure you, I have sufficient confidentiality experience to placate even the most paranoid."

"I'd say," Potter mumbled, causing Snape's eye to twitch.

"And where is your laboratory?"

Snape cleared his throat and maintained his steady glare.

"Islington, a ventilated cellar in a muggle home."

"You brew in a muggle's home?" one of the other witches asked, dropping her glasses to the desk.

"No, it's my house. But it's in a muggle neighbourhood," Potter answered, his voice startling two of the other witches. They'd apparently forgotten he was there.

"What a dear he is," the oldest witch on the left commented, smiling sweetly at Potter.

"Regardless of the building owner, I have a laboratory set up for brewing," Snape interrupted, wanting to get the questioning over with.

"What will be your most marketed five potions, Professor?" Botsnair asked, not consulting the paperwork Snape had submitted.

"Wolfsbane," Snape immediately answered. "Pepper Up, Dragon Barb House-Cleaning potion, Everlasting Male Elixir, and the Euphoria Elixir."

"Hmm," Botsnair considered, tapping her finger against her chin. "All potions, with the exception of Wolfsbane, that are easily found in other shops in Diagon Alley."

"Yes," Snape deadpanned. "It is possible to interrupt one's daily schedule, leave the house, struggle against a crowd, and wait in queue to purchase these potions at other shops."

To his left he could hear Potter sucking in a breath, but at the front Botsnair's lip twitched as if she were attempting not to smile.

"Professor Snape, has the investigation been closed on the explosion that destroyed your house at the beginning of August?" she asked, switching topics so abruptly that Snape's hand fluttered slightly against his side as he thought of a suitable answer.

"According to the muggles, it was a gas explosion," Snape retorted. The judges nodded automatically, as this was the standard excuse used by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

"And the real reason, Professor Snape?" Botsnair pressed.

"Adverse reaction between ingredients in a permanent pigmentation salve under experimentation."

"Experimentation for your shop's stock?"

"No," Snape answered, in the tone of voice that meant Snape would not go into any further detail. "It was a private project."

"It is a legal potion, right Mr Snape?" the older witch asked, regarding him closely.

"Of course, Madame. All legal ingredients," Snape lied.

Botsnair was flipping through a report in her stack of papers, holding one that appeared to have been printed on muggle computer paper.

"You received £3500 in insurance benefits from the explosion, did you not?"

"Yes," said Snape, narrowing his eyes.

"Do you plan to make a further profit via accident with your potion shop?"

Snape gritted his teeth and placed his hands calmly over his papers.

"It is an owl-order shop, Madame; it will not have a physical location to insure. The explosion at Spinner's End was purely an accident, and not one I wish to repeat."

An elderly wizard sitting in the stands near Potter looked down over his nose at Snape.

"You're a potions master, hey? Bit odd for you to be having accidents."

"It merely means my accidents are on a larger scale," Snape snapped.

"Thank you, Professor," Botsnair interrupted before Snape could say anything else to the man. He still shot a withering look at the old wizard however, and noted with irritation Potter's concerned face. Snape was well known for his acerbic tone, and thought he had kept it mostly in check.

"We will take the next fifteen minutes to review your paperwork, Professor Snape, and then meet back here for the decision. You are excused."

The witches remained seated, so Snape gathered the few papers he had not handed in and strode with purpose out into the hallway. Potter followed close behind, his expression a mixture of concern, curiosity, and excitement.

"That went well, you think?" Potter asked, walking quickly to keep up with Snape's stride. "Except for the explosion bit."

"I do not wish to discuss the case," Snape growled, turning the corner of the hall and finding a dead end. He conjured a seat out of parchment and dropped into it.

"Alright. What do you want to talk about?"

"Go home, Potter. You are no longer needed," Snape responded, staring at a part of the wall where his reflection blurred.

"Why are you such an arse when you're nervous?" Potter demanded, his face red and eyes bright. He looked like he'd been stung, and Snape supposed that he might have been slightly rude to Potter.

"Thank you for your appearance, Potter. Now I wish to be left alone while I wait," Snape clarified, raising his eyebrow pointedly and waiting for the boy to take the hint.

"Fine," Potter said, though his mouth was pressed together as if he'd meant to say a few other things. "I'm going to see Mr Weasley about something anyway."

"It's too late to grease the wheel _now_ ," said Snape, watching Potter leave.

…

The old wizard followed Snape back into the courtroom, skirting the spectator benches with his cane as he made his way to his seat. Snape watched him go, vowing to kill himself before he'd ever take up watching license proceedings as a hobby.

Botsnair sat composed in the middle of the table, with a stack of papers neatly placed in front of her and a tight lipped smile on her face.

"Professor Snape, I will not approve your application at this moment for an owl-order potion business," Botsnair said, watching for Snape's reaction and seeming disappointed when there wasn't one.

Snape's teeth were clenched, however, and his wand hand's fingers twitched against his side as he longed to throw something. Botsnair wasn't finished, however.

"I feel that you did not prove that your business provided any unique service not already found amongst the apothecaries and general shops currently operating in Diagon Alley. Your market is certainly varied, but as a single potioneer, you would face difficulties producing enough volume to turn a profit."

The other witches on the panel didn't look at Snape, as if they didn't make eye contact, than he couldn't blame them for the bad news.

"What I would like to do instead is recommend you as a freelance Potions Master to St Mungo's."

Snape's toes started to curl in his shoes at the last words, and his focus narrowed in on Botsnair.

"Freelance?" Snape asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes. According to my research, Wolfsbane is a difficult and time-consuming potion to brew, which is mostly out of the skill capacity of those inflicted. Several times in your guarantors' letters, both of them, it is noted that you have created a version of Wolfsbane that is easier on the patient during transformation. I believe that this detailed application of your brewing skills will be nothing but beneficial to St Mungo's."

Snape nodded in appreciation, slightly flustered to be receiving such praises not only from a complete stranger, but in recommendation from Weasley and Potter. He was quite familiar with his reputation preceding him, however it was usually the negative aspects that took precedence.

"I shall put you in touch with the department head at St Mungo's within a week, Professor. Do you have any questions about the outcome of your application?"

"I do not, Madame," Snape said, in what passed for his friendliest tone. His toes were cramping in his shoes due to him curling them so hard, and Snape had only just stopped himself from rocking on his feet. He knew an outright smile would likely alarm the judges, so kept his pleased reaction subtle.

"Very well. Thank you, Professor, and good luck," Botsnair said, rising from her chair to go for a break.

…

The man sat in the back of the small courtroom, wearing a ruffled tweed jacket with worn leather elbows over trousers that were slightly too small. He'd shoved most of his dirty blond hair under an old golfer's cap that didn't quite match his jacket, and though he was listening quite intently, he appeared to be partially asleep. All throughout the meeting the man watched Severus Snape stand uncomfortably straight as he fired back answers to the questions thrown at him. Most interestingly, the man noticed the plethora of looks of irritation or annoyance aimed at Potter.

The decision was announced and met with curious murmurs from the few who'd come to watch. Potter had not returned for the verdict, and the man was disappointed that the application had been denied. He would have preferred that Severus Snape be completely distracted with a potions shop and all the work needed for its start-up.

…

Ashley fought with his umbrella, trying to keep the rain both off his head and his upper body. He'd given up on his lower legs, as the wind had ensured his trousers were wet enough for a wash. It wasn't a cold rain, which Ashley supposed he could be thankful for, but his uniform was an uncomfortable cotton/polyester mix that hung heavy and clung when wet.

Potter's neighbourhood at least had a canopy of trees to provide some relief. Potter's house was mostly dark inside, with only a light in the front downstairs room and above the door. Ashley knew that Potter could still be in, however, as Potter didn't seem to be in the habit of lighting every room when he was home.

From the front steps Ashley could partially see inside the living room, noting Potter's son playing with a few toys and being watched over by a stern looking woman. Ashley knew she was a witch, as no normal person he'd ever known had worn an outfit like hers, but he didn't know who she was. The Potter baby ran to her and climbed up in her lap, and Ashley figured she was likely his grandmother.

Not bothering to knock on the door or otherwise announce his presence, Ashley turned and walked back down the front steps. He felt the very tiny surge of wards Potter had put up, a recognition he'd only been able to make after practise and exposure to wizarding house wards. He left the wards unnoticed, the same ones that would recognize and repel his boss in an instant. Ashley pulled the collar of his shirt up to stop the rain from hitting his neck, not glancing back at the Potter house once as he continued on with his workday.

…

Harry apparated home after speaking to Mr Weasley about his maths homework. Minerva was in the sitting room, watching as Theo waved a toy wand around and danced. The radio was playing a children's station, and Theo babbled along loudly with the words. Harry stood in the doorway unnoticed, smiling and trying to stop his eyes from getting prickly. Theo was fifteen months old; the same age Harry had been when he'd gone to live with the Dursleys.

"Daddy!" Theo cheered, noticing Harry. Theo's hair went jet black again and his green eyes danced as he half stumbled, half ran toward Harry. He collided with Harry's knees and hugged tight, making Harry laugh.

"Hello Theo."

"How was the hearing?" Minerva asked, clearing toys from the chesterfield so Harry could sit.

"Fine, I suppose. Snape seemed nervous for a few seconds, but then launched into it."  
Theo took his stuffed monkey toy back from Harry and talked to it as he toddled off.

"He kicked me out before they made their decision," Harry finished smiling softy.

"Naturally. He wouldn't be Severus if he hadn't," Minerva mused.

"Theo, leave your trousers on," Harry admonished, watching Theo successfully twist out of the loose play trousers he was on. Harry got an impish grin as an answer and Theo pulled himself back to his feet, showing off his cartoon-printed nappy.

"Worry about that more when he's a teen and has a girlfriend," Minerva advised, her mouth set into a small grin.

"Thanks, Aunt Minerva," Harry replied sarcastically.

Harry stood up and walked over to Theo, holding his hands out so Theo took them. He danced slower than usual, letting Theo bounce and stomp to the music.

"How is your most recent case going?" Minerva asked, smiling as she watched her boys.

"Oddly. There's a lot of counterfeited notes, and they're done almost perfectly. Too perfect, actually. There's a wizard involved."

"What reason would a wizard have to counterfeit muggle money? We use the goblins and their coins," Minerva asked. She gave Theo a curious look, as he'd dropped Harry's hands suddenly and squatted down.

"Gringotts does provide exchange services," Harry pointed out, also staring at Theo. Theo grunted and scrunched his face up, making Harry wrinkle his nose. "I can't wait till you're potty trained."

Instead of relieving himself, Theo wiggled as he stood up and, to Harry's astonishment, a thin tan-coloured tail emerged from under Theo's shirt. He'd given himself a monkey's tail, and going by his cheer and clapping, was quite proud of his accomplishment.

"Well done, Theo," Minerva praised, her smile full of mirth. "Twenty points for Gryffindor."

"He might not be a Gryffindor, you know," Harry commented, teasing Minerva. When Theo was six months old, and Harry had asked her to be part of his little family, she'd given Theo a baby-sized Gryffindor uniform.

"Blasphemy, Harry Potter," Minerva mock admonished.

"You know what I find odd?" Harry said, watching Theo try to catch his tail. "There were a few people at the hearing just listening in. Like they'd spent the whole day there just listening to the cases."

"I have long discovered that there is a form of amusement available to everyone. Some a little odder than others," Minerva replied thoughtfully.

Harry grinned to himself – she surely knew after all those years working with Albus Dumbledore what odd forms of entertainment existed.

"You're right. One wizard at the front of the room looked like he lived in the courtrooms. And there was one at the back that looked a bit like Ludo Bagman, if Ludo Bagman had spent the last four years living on a diet of fried food and firewhiskey."

"Ludo Bagman as a student could not pay attention long enough for a standard lecture. I highly doubt as an adult that he has developed the patience for an entire day of court cases," Minerva said, shaking her head.

"Uh oh!" Theo announced, his eyes big and his mouth open. He had his arms up and his hands open, and appeared discombobulated. His tail had disappeared, and Theo didn't seem to know how he'd done it or how to bring it back.

…

Snape apparated back to the kitchen near midnight, landing with a quiet whoosh of his robes that he'd perfected as a death eater. There was low light still left on under the kitchen cabinets, but the room had been cleaned for the evening. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creaks as it settled. Snape removed his outer cloak and draped it over his arm, turning to the fridge to fetch a drink. There, nestled in the centre top shelf of Potter's surprisingly well-organized fridge, was a plate of chicken potpie under a preservation charm. It was a healthy portion, and based on the plastic container of further leftovers on the shelf beneath, Snape concluded that Potter had expected him for dinner.

Leaving the leftovers for tomorrow, Snape walked quietly down the hall toward the stairs. Light spilled over into the hall from the office, and stopping just short of the door, Snape saw Potter slumped at his desk. Surrounded by parchment, muggle money, and a magnifying glass, he appeared to have dropped off to sleep suddenly.  
Snape lifted his foot and stomped on the floor, loud enough to wake Potter, but not enough to wake the demon above.

"Seh! What? Snape!" Potter intelligently said, looking around the room in a daze.

"Stop acting like an idiot and go to bed," Snape ordered, taking small amusement in Potter's confusion.

"I'm not an idiot," Potter growled, shoving his glasses back in place and standing up. "Not for staying up. You told me to leave today. How was I supposed to know how things went? They could have said yes or no, or even arrested you."

"For _what_?" Snape scoffed, watching Potter come closer and making a mental note that Potter was very quick to become alert after waking. "I am a free wizard, Mr Potter, as you'd do well to remember."

"I don't know for what, I didn't exactly get to stay and find out, did I?" Potter sneered, standing close to Snape. He'd certainly lost what little fear he'd ever had of Snape - a positive thing as Snape had no qualms about hexing an adult.

"Why do you smell like cologne? I thought it interfered with your potions."

Snape hid his surprise at Potter's intelligent reasoning and offered a twisted smile.

"I celebrated. It's not my cologne."

Potter scrunched his face oddly and stepped back. "Oh, I…congratulations for getting your license."

"I didn't," Snape corrected, studying Potter's facial expressions. "I have been recommended for something else. Why were you waiting up for me?"

Potter was confused by Snape's suddenly calm and quiet voice.

"Because that's what friends do," Potter slowly answered.

"I am not your friend, Potter. I am your former professor and the man you once hated enough to attempt murder. And friends don't carefully wrap up leftover meals for each other either," Snape stated.

"I don't know what kind of arsehole friends you have, but yes they do," Potter hotly replied, his glare hardening.

"I don't think that's why you did it," Snape replied, unable to keep the malicious glee out of his voice. "I think you enjoy my company, Mr Potter. I think you wanted to eat dinner with me."

"Of course I did, I like having someone to talk to," Potter huffed. He threw a pen from his trouser pocket on to the desk and turned out the desk light.

"You like having someone to talk to," Snape repeated, feeling energetic. "Potter, if you were any further in the closet you'd be a boggart."

"I'm not homosexual," Potter denied, his voice strong and his stance unyielding. "Liking your company and talking over dinner has nothing to do with sexuality."

Snape raised his eyebrow in disbelief. Potter pushed past him, extinguishing the overhead light in the office and plunging them into semi-darkness.

"It's a big house," Potter said, headed for the stairs and walking away from Snape. "Excuse me for enjoying the company of another adult."

Snape was rendered momentarily silent, familiar with loneliness after spending half of his life as a hated former death eater, and a year as the most loathed headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen.

"Mr Potter, what does the R stand for on the sign outside the door?" Snape asked, watching Potter's form stop half way up the stairs.

"Remaneo," Potter answered. He did not look back at Snape, at the curious eyes that were focused on him. "To remain behind, to stay, to continue."

...

Snape sat at the kitchen table early the next morning, leafing through the mail and listening to the ruckus upstairs. Whatever Potter was doing appeared to be ridiculously funny, as Theo was shrieking loudly.

_Daily Prophet, postcard from Granger, note from the bookshop in Diagon Alley, and a letter from a private healer._

An unsolicited letter by the looks of it, offering to test Potter for any anti- love potions or curses. An interesting proposition. Potter and the youngest Weasley had split before the disastrous Horcrux hunt, and as far as Snape knew; he'd not gone on a single date since then.

"Snape?" Potter called, standing in the kitchen doorway and determined to act as if nothing had transpired between them the night before. "We're off to the park. Need anything?"

Theo was standing at his feet, dressed in jeans, a shirt, and a monkey hat.

"From the park? Hardly."

Potter shrugged and swooped Theo up, causing the little boy to start giggling.

As the front door closed Snape rose and made to go upstairs, detouring from the stairs to his third floor and entering into Potter's room. It was definitely a masculine room, light pine bed furnishings coupled with dark bed linens, dark rugs, and dark wall art. A focus wall across from the door was painted a shade that Snape thought of as 'Death Eater Grey.' There was a small bookshelf by the far side of the table, but Snape was disappointed to find only a parenting book and some cheap muggle mass-market murder mysteries. He opened the closet and found rows of neatly hung dress shirts and dress trousers, and a messy chest of drawers for the casual clothes. Robes hung along the opposite wall, and Snape discovered they were hiding a box. This box was also filled with books, but of a subject Snape wasn't completely familiar with. _Understanding Asexuality,_ the top book cover stated.

Snape picked up two of the books, the ones most heavily marked, and took them upstairs to his flat. It was a semi-cloudy day, and he sat in his old leather recliner by the window to read. Asexuality was almost non-existent in the wizarding world, indeed with their small population, wizards and witches were somewhat encouraged to reproduce. And then there was Potter, who'd set himself up in an admittedly gorgeous home, with a one year old he'd adopted on his own, and never seemed to be interested in finding a date. It would explain the break up between him and the Weasley girl, as Snape had never known Weasleys to be anything but focused on reproduction.

Snape drank his tea as he read, skimming through the different sections on asexuality. There were apparently people who had no interest in either sex or relationships in general, people who didn't mind sex but didn't necessarily crave it, and people who enjoyed companionship and nothing further. He wondered which category Potter fell under. It was a muggle book, both of them were, and Snape figured there wasn't a wizarding version, as he'd never read of a documented magical asexual.

"I'm not aromantic."

Snape snapped his head up and saw Potter leaning against his doorjamb, a small bit of leaf stuck on his sleeve. His hair was wind-blown, and his eyes were piercing.

"Asexuals are still capable of love."

Snape narrowed his own eyes, before he figured out that Potter was justifying his right to raise and provide for Theo.

"I should hope so; the Dark Lord would still be alive if you weren't."

"Something to remember," Potter pointed out, though his tone was still hard. "Accio books."

They flew out of Snape's hands, and Potter deftly caught them. He closed the books without checking that his markers were still stuck between the right pages, and then clutched them tight to his chest.

"We're even for the pensieve incident," finished Potter, as he stalked out the room and down the stairs. He'd managed to rein in his temper, but Snape heard his anger seep out with every footstep.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *

  
_Thursday, End of Business Day, Ministry of Magic Archives Office_

A Ministry of Magic elf whizzes throughout the Archives office, wearing lime green running shoes that squeaked at every turn. The room is full of filing cabinets stacked in an odd, chaotic pattern that only the elf understands, and files are continually appearing in inboxes by the back wall of the room. The elf is practised and thorough, however, and the files find their way to different storage folders throughout the room in an average of one minute, forty six seconds per file. Severus Snape's application and hearing finding are handled the same way, stamped with the words 'closed', and placed in a blue cabinet near the west corner, surrounded by other miscellanea regarding potion masters of the 20th century.

…

Harry's back garden was not very deep, as he was ensconced in the middle of London and real estate was at an expensive premium. Most of the garden was shrubs, bushes, and small trees, but there was a small patch of grass that Theo played on when it wasn't raining. He also had a small wooden patio to the left of the glass eating area, and it was covered by a cream coloured canvas shade. It also was covered with the impervius charm, though the weather had staved off on the rain this morning.

Ron put his bottle of Runespoor Red beer down on the table between them and loaded a few rounds of sickly yellow coloured paintballs into his gun.

"Hermione won't be too pleased that we're drinking this early."

He took aim at a target near the edge of the back garden and let off a few rounds, the sound of splattering paint dissipating in the edges of the silencing charm above the target.

"She'll get here after five, then it won't make a difference," Harry corrected, raising his own gun to steady his aim. Harry's bottle of Runespoor Red was on the table next to Ron's, and the baby monitor that was listening in on Theo sleeping.

Ron shrugged at that and watched as Harry hit the target dead on, splattering it with a mixture of red and blue paint. The target was a crudely drawn circle, which could be seen as a person's head, if one squinted strongly enough.

"Your target isn't very snake-like," Ron concluded, watching Harry volley another round of shots. Harry appreciated that Ron didn't always want to talk out problems – he merely gave enough company to calm Harry down.

"I'm not mad at Snape because he's a Slytherin," Harry said, putting his paintball gun down. "I'm mad at him because he's Snape."

"Yeah. And you let him into your house," Ron shrugged.

"Because he needed a place to stay. And I thought he'd turned over a new leaf!" Harry protested. He was staring out over the clouded garden, at the brightly painted target.

"He's still Snape. He was like, chief arsehole of Hogwarts or something," Ron muttered, holding his beer bottle up to his lips and smirking.

"I thought that was Mal –" Harry paused and grinned at Ron's incredulous look. "No, you're right. Snape really was an arse at school."

"The chief," Ron toasted. Through the monitor Theo babbled in his sleep, but it was intelligible and petered out after a moment.

"You're not surprised at all," Harry mused. He focused on one tiny spot of his garden that had sunlight, the one small beam that had broken through the clouds. "You knew this was a bad idea."

"Well," Ron thought, entirely too comfortable in the deck chair to get properly riled up. "We're adults now, yeah? And heroes. The way I figure it, you can yell it out with Snape and maybe kick him out, and if that doesn't work, people will turn a blind eye if the Boy Who Lived accidentally turned his professor into a bat."

"Ex professor," Harry corrected, clinking his bottle against Ron's and smiling.

"Why'd you let him live here, anyway? Felt sorry for him?"

Harry shifted in his chair, staring out over the garden toward the target. "I guess so. He seemed…different when he first came to visit me."

"Yeah, I imagine he would be. Twenty years of spying over, bitten by a giant snake and almost died, you know. Changes a person," Ron offered, sounding pensive.

"Not fully, so it seems," Harry considered.

Ron passed Harry the container of paintballs and they filled the guns again.

"I wonder if the muggles think we're shooting at them," Ron mused, watching Harry aim his paintball gun at the target. Harry's posture was very still, and his face was tight with concentration.

"It's paint, Ron. We're just painting the fence."

Harry took his shot and missed, hitting only the very edge of the target and splattering paint on a tree and the fence.

"Crap. This is a lot easier when the targets are moving."

"…says the Boy Who Lived."

"The Man," Harry corrected.

"Point," Ron conceded. "So why, exactly, are we in your back garden, on a Friday afternoon, shooting at a target with a stick man on it?" Ron asked, sitting back into a deck chair and resting his paintball gun in his lap.

"Because Snape's a wanker," Harry huffed, slouching in his own chair. The baby monitor on the side table remained silent as Ron laughed.

"Well, someone in the house has to be," Ron grinned, "s'not like we can call you one."

"The equipment still works, Ron," Harry said, giving up a small snicker.

"Does it? Do you actually wank?" Ron asked, looking a mixture of curious and amused.

"When the need arises," Harry responded, trying to keep a straight face.

"Oooouh," Ron grimaced. "So what exactly did he find? And if it's so bad, why aren't you shooting at him?"

"I took Theo to the park this morning, came home, and found that Snape had gone through my room and found the books I have."

"Your non-sex books?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment, Ron sipping his beer and silent in thought. As much as Harry loved Hermione, he was rather glad that she was currently at work. Hermione helped him through a lot of issues, but Ron understood the need to vent frustrations.

"Kinda like what you did with his memories?"

"Yeah," Harry immediately answered, flushing in embarrassment. But Ron didn't tell him he deserved the retribution.

"That's why we're shooting a target, and not him," Harry explained.

"Well, and he shoots back," Ron pointed out. "Look, you've never told anyone what you saw in his memories, right?"

"No one," Harry confirmed.

"So maybe he won't say anything. That's what you're worried about anyway, right?"

"Yeah, that's the last thing I want. The entire wizarding world thinking I have a problem with sex that can only be 'cured' by them," Harry dryly said, gulping some beer.

Ron shuddered.

"But why would he look? We were getting on pretty well, considering the past," Harry said, exasperated.

"You used to loathe each other," Ron scoffed.

"And yet, we've only had one real argument since he got here. Happened last night, because I'd stayed up to make sure he'd gotten home all right. I don't even know why that bothered him, actually," Harry trailed off, rather confused.

Ron was giving him a look of malicious glee.

"He likes you!" Ron broke into laughter. "Severus Snape likes you!"

"Don't be daft," Harry crossly said, taking a sip of his beer. "Snape tolerates me. Why would he break my trust if he likes me?"

"Because he's Snape, that's his thing. He hurts the people he likes," Ron shrugged.

"That's even dumber reasoning," Harry complained, taking a lazy shot at the target from his seat.

"It's true, though," Ron said, turning his head to the side, where it sounded like Harry's neighbour was crashing along the garden wall. "You've got an admirer."

"I do not," Harry denied, putting his paintball gun down on the table. "I don't even like him."

"No?" Ron asked, a gleam in his eye. He looked like an owl circling a mouse hole, the same look he had when he played chess. "You stayed up late last night to make sure he got home safe?"

"Eff off," Harry muttered, his face flushing as he flashed Ron two fingers.

"Just wait till Hermione figures this out," Ron continued, ignoring Harry's discomfort.

"But hey, how can you like him if you don't like sex?" Ron asked, holding his hand out and silently summoning another beer.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Harry said, snatching Ron's beer as it flew by.

"Bloody seekers," Ron complained. "Yeah? Well we've got a few hours till Hermione's off work, and the monkey's asleep, so go for it," Ron waved his hand in Harry's direction, nearly slapping him in the process.

"You want me to explain to you what my asexuality is," Harry clarified, giving his friend a dubious look.  
"You know I didn't read the books. No good pictures in them," Ron said, not quite managing a straight face.

"It's like this," Harry started, pausing to collect his thoughts and ignoring Ron's jab. "Have you ever gone out for a day with Hermione and just been really glad she's there? Not grateful, but you look at her and think your day would be missing something if she wasn't there? There's nothing sexual about it, though."

Ron sipped more of his beer and closed his eyes as if picturing one of those days. "Yeah, I know that feeling."

"I like the company. I'd like someone that would be that person on those kinds of days with me. But without the constant sex bit," Harry said, shaking his head on the last. "Bit like looking for a horcrux, though."

"Wait," Ron said, not having heard the last part. "You are attracted to people, but just to their minds or personalities."

"Well, not really. I mean, you're my best mate, but I'm not attracted to your supple mind and seductive sense of logic," Harry said, waving his hands as if he was doing voodoo.

Ron laughed so hard that he shot beer out his nose, and Harry relaxed back into his chair. He'd told Snape they were even. That would have to do.

…

Snape sat in his old leather chair that Potter's house elf had provided amongst the new furniture for his rooms. He'd chosen the front room to be his living room, and through the windows could hear the odd car passing on the road below. He had an untouched mug of tea beside him on a small table, and an unopened book in his lap.

He never would have guessed that Potter was asexual.

The feeling he'd gotten after Potter had confronted him was an odd one. He'd seen that boy as a runt of an eleven year old, bleary eyed and apologetic over every small matter, but also opinionated and stubborn. And yet, when Potter had confiscated his books back from Snape, Snape hadn't felt like he'd been looking at a student any more.

The stairs creaked outside his little set of rooms, and Snape picked up that the tread was different from Potter's footfalls. The door to the living room swung open and the reason was revealed – Minerva McGonagall stormed into the room with a scowl on her face and a deadly glare in her eyes.

"Minerva," he greeted, remaining calm and stoic. "I'm afraid if you've come for tea; the kitchen is downstairs."

Snape started slightly as she snatched the book off his lap and with the downswing of her wrist, transfigured it into a wicker chair.

"You know exactly why I am here, Severus," Minerva replied, her voice quiet and stern.

"Certainly," Snape replied, his own town clipped. "Though Potter has never run for help before."

"He is still learning," Minerva replied, crossing her arms. "I had to demand the details from him through a firecall. Severus Snape, I am ashamed of you."

"I was looking for reading material, Minerva," Snape retorted, his eyes flashing.

"In his bedroom closet?"

"The boy was acting suspicious," Snape argued. "Never brought anyone home, no interest in anyone, and he's one of the most infamous wizards in the world right now. It is most important to check for any curse that could have been set on Potter."

"That's a load of rubbish!" Minerva snapped, shaking her finger at him. Her mouth was set tight and her eyes bored into his. "Would you have dared pass that justification by Albus Dumbledore?"

Snape jerked back as if he'd been slapped. He found himself momentarily at a loss for words, but Minerva wasn't done.

"You were trying to turn a new leaf with Harry. What could have possibly changed yesterday to make you act like such a child?"

"I have been approved for a position with St. Mungo's," Snape gritted. "I knew something wasn't right with Potter, and I wished to correct it."

"One success led to another venture?" Minerva asked, her expression still full of displeasure.

"I had also been out celebrating and having a drink," Snape added, waving his hand dismissively.

"Your father used to say the same," Minerva said, speculatively.

"I didn't touch Potter!" Snape growled, his shoulders flinching slightly inward.

"No, your actions can be vicious enough," she replied, crossing her hands in her lap.

"It is nothing less than what Potter did during the occlumency lessons I was forced to provide!" Snape retorted, his body stature defensive.

"That was during war! Those were required for Harry's survival. This on the other hand, was a violation of the privacy he trusted you with. You, a former Head of House."

"Ah, so my privacy doesn't count, Minerva? I had absolutely refused to give the lessons, yet I had no choice."

"No you didn't. But you had a choice on where those memories of yours were kept. There is a very large difference between an open pensieve on a desk, and a storage box hidden in a back cupboard."

Snape crossed his arms and looked to the side table, where he had three photographs in plain frames. He had no answer to her, but knew that she was aware he was still listening.

"What have you come here for, Minerva? Do you expect me to give a grandiose apology to Potter?"

Minerva, much calmer than she had been a few moments earlier, patted Snape's knee and spoke in a low, clear voice.

"I am here because when you see the error of your ways, you will go to untold lengths to correct them. But sometimes you need help seeing things in the correct light."

Snape scoffed, but didn't say anything further.

"I don't expect you to apologise. That is between you and Harry. I came to strongly encourage that this childish behaviour between both of you stops. I spoke to Harry earlier, and he agreed."

"Potter's acting like an adult? He and Weasley are in the back garden shooting their paint guns at an effigy of myself, as we speak," Snape snorted moodily.

"It's merely a drawing, I believe. And it's a mite better than launching a jar of dead insects at your head, wouldn't you agree?" Minerva asked, her lips twitching to hide a small smile.

…

Hicks yew bushes surrounded the house, the light yellow and green leaf somewhat clashing with the red brick of the house. It was a predominantly muggle neighbourhood, and the house was slightly distinctive by the light of the candles glowing in the window. Its neighbours had ceiling lights and curtains drawn, but this home had candle light flickering shadows on the ceiling of the living room, and no blue-ish reflection from a telly.

The man had apparated to the street several houses down, and now stood next to a large spruce tree just off the property line. He watched intently, noting a person's shadow progressing from one room to another through the window. It was just at the cusp of nightfall, and the curtains hadn't been drawn yet. Patting his cloak pocket, the man confirmed to himself once again that he'd brought a large envelope of counterfeited muggle notes. In another pocket he had a few blank sheets, along with a small set of mixed dyes and small filaments used in the making of the notes.

Ashley had marked off a rough sketch of the property lines, noting which areas were open to viewing from the neighbours. Ashley was an over-achiever, most suited for a job at the Ministry if he'd been a wizard, but that was much better than not being prepared, the man thought.

The man held up his wand and sent out an echo charm, waiting for the response from the back of the house. It came four seconds later; Barty Crouch Jr confirming that the back was lightless and shrouded in greenery. The man called him forth, and muttered a curse as he heard Crouch cracking sticks under his tread. Crouch performed simple actions under the Imperius curse, but had no capacity for understanding the necessity of either silence or stealth.

Thunder suddenly ripped across the sky above them, a loud rippling noise that startled the man slightly. Crouch remained motionless beside him, staring with empty eyes at the house in front of them as a few fat drops of rain splattered on the sidewalk. Footsteps to their left struck the cement as a teenage boy ran home, football shoes slung over his shoulder as he raced to beat the storm. He passed by the man and Crouch, not noticing the still-standing Crouch, and the suddenly tense posture of the man. A flash of lightning lit up the yard of the house, casting ugly shadows across the windows and on the face of the man as scowled at the running boy.

"Let's go," the man growled, not looking at Crouch.

The downpour had started, pelting their shoulders as they walked onto the property and up the front path. As predicted by the man, candlelight moved from the front living room to the hallway, as the occupant felt their wards breeched and were coming to investigate. The man pulled his tight jacket taller, shaking off raindrops that had been rolling down the outside of his coat thanks to a waterproofing charm. Making to knock on the door, the man stopped himself just before making contact with the painted wood.

"One downstairs, one or possibly two upstairs," the man said, muttering to himself as he mentally reviewed Ashley's observational notes. He withdrew a small pin from his coat pocket, the size of a galleon and in the shape of two large sticks crossed over an indistinguishable stamp in the middle. The pin symbolized absolutely nothing, but it provided witnesses with something worthless to focus on for later description. Fastened properly to his lapel, the man issued two short commands to Crouch, and thundered on the door with his fist.

The storm had picked up swiftly, flashes crackling across the sky in rapid intervals as thunder ripped strongly overhead. Crouch stood tall and imposing beside the man, thoroughly drenched by the water and waiting for the door to open and his cue to appear.

Loud thumps sounded from the other side of the door as a heavy-set person approached. The door was flung wide and there was a moment when the only thing audible was the wave-like sound of the downpour and the low rumble of receding thunder.

"Well? What do you want?"

It was said in a weak demand, and accompanied by a slightly puzzled, slightly annoyed expression. The man gave a twisted smile.

"I've heard you never bother to remember your underlings, Fudge."

Pressing forward, the man forced Fudge back into the little entry way and out of the view of anyone on the street. Crouch followed, his sopping hair sticking to his skull and making him appear like an emancipated Azkaban prisoner once more. Once in the light of the hall's candelabra, Fudge looked less like an imposing ex-Minister of Magic and more like a lazy retiree who'd let himself go.

"Declare yourselves, and then remove yourselves from my property," Fudge demanded, pulling his house robe closed over his chest. He held his wand out, pointed down toward his visitors' feet. The lines in Fudge's face were etched deeper and his stomach had grown larger, as if leaving the Ministry of Magic had caused him more stress, and not less.

"Oh, but I think not," the man said, smiling easily. "I came for some information, you see, and I'm terribly saddened that you don't remember me."

"You worked for the Ministry, more than a few years ago," Fudge said, narrowing his eyes.

"Ah, but so has half the wizarding population of Britain." The man reached his hand up and flexed his fingers, drawing the hanging candelabra closer to them.

"Crouch!" Fudge gasped, fumbling his wand in surprise. "But no, you've been kissed!"

"Incarcerous," the man said, in a bored tone. "He's still useful. Thanks to you, I suppose. It is a small world after all."

…

Harry quietly carried Theo downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps and groaning floorboards. The sounds didn't reach the third floor, but it was barely seven and Harry thought it was too early for the house to be awake. He must have left one of the windows open the night before, as the smell of the neighbour's morning fry-up was wafting through the hall.

"Ready to go to the market today?" he asked Theo, tickling the toddler's belly.

"Daddy smmba thurth hoppy," Theo nodded firmly, which Harry took to mean 'Daddy is going grocery shopping.'

"That's right," Harry confirmed, walking toward the kitchen. "And Theo is going with Daddy, to help w–"

Harry stopped just inside the kitchen door and blinked in surprise.

"Sape!" Theo clapped, struggling to get down out of Harry's arms.

Snape stood by the stove, calmly cooking bacon in a cast iron pan, as if he did it every day. Three eggs sat in a saucepot to the left of the stove, and there was a cutting board with thin slices of cheddar cheese near the sink.

Theo weaved slightly off balance toward his high chair, having rescued one of his stuffed monkey friends from his play table in the corner.

"Up!" Theo demanded, smacking his hands on the seat of his high chair.

"I am unfamiliar with the dietary needs of a fifteen month old," Snape finally said, not turning to look at Harry. On the table were three place settings, two tall glasses, a jug of orange juice, Theo's sippy cup, a plate of toast, and a bowl of spinach.

"Aunt Minerva reamed you out yesterday, didn't she," Harry deadpanned, knowing the answer.

"We had a discussion," Snape confirmed, bringing the eggs and bacon to the table. The cheese floated behind him on the cutting board, making Theo giggle.

"Did you realize what an arse you were?" Harry asked causally, not patient enough for Snape's evasive conversational style.

"I may have over stepped a boundary, though nothing more than what you did as a student," Snape coolly said.

"There's no may about it," Harry argued. "Yeah, at Hogwarts I should have avoided the temptation of your pensive. But you went looking for what, blackmail material? You're just lucky I didn't decide to kick you out yesterday."

Harry threw himself into his chair and began making a breakfast sandwich, putting spinach, cheese, and a sliced up boiled egg on toast. He hadn't wanted to let Snape rile him up.

"Is that why you want me to remain, however?" Snape asked, eyeing Harry critically. "To cure your problem?"

"There's nothing wrong with me," Harry growled. He poured a small bowl of cheerios for Theo, and splashed a bit of milk on them. Theo was still in his pyjamas, so Harry didn't mind how messy he became.

"You have been tested for errant curses after the war, haven't you?" Snape asked, looking down his nose at Harry as if he expected that Harry hadn't even considered it.

"Yes," Harry answered evenly.

"I hadn't known. I noticed your behaviour was odder than it usually is, thus I went to investigate, as any good potions master would have done," Snape said, nodding as if this made perfect sense.

Snape had made his own open face sandwich, which seemed to be on the verge of crumbling apart in his hands.

"Stop making excuses for yourself," said Harry, clanking his juice glass onto the table. Theo was focusing intently on his own breakfast, adding sound effects to the eating procedure.

"And what was your excuse, Mr Potter?" Snape silkily asked, managing to eat his breakfast sandwich somewhat neatly.

Harry deflated with his breath and poked some errant pieces of spinach back between his two pieces of bread.

"I think I was desperate at that time for any piece of information that meant the war was coming closer to an end," Harry said, his voice low.

Snape had no answer to that, it seemed, as he just continued to stare intensely at Harry as he ate his breakfast.

"Did you get your pitcher plant?"

Snape looked slightly suspicious for a second at the change of subject, but he finally nodded at Harry.

"Yes. It would be in your best interest to avoid the cellar at the moment."

Harry smiled. He had absolutely no urge to go anywhere near a cauldron.

"Ageeen!" Theo pouted, reaching out to the bowl of spinach on the table.

"Have at it," Harry said, dumping some spinach on Theo's tray.

"There is a large lotto draw tomorrow evening," Snape said, watching Theo massacre the spinach with his fingers. "For twenty-five thousand galleons."

"Probably," Harry shrugged, getting up from the table and putting his dishes away. "I don't pay attention much to it."

"I imagine not, as you are barred. However, do note Mr Potter, that I shall be very displeased if a winning ticket of mine is disqualified solely because I reside in the same house as you."

As Theo was done with whatever breakfast he was going to eat, Harry lifted him out of the highchair and banished the mess. Theo toddled off to the little corner table in the kitchen, where a toy car was sitting on the edge.

"I'm not sure if they would," Harry responded, thoughtful. "But I'm certain you will convince them to pay out."

…

Snape had set up two potions brewing in the basement. The first was a base for his version of Wolfsbane, as he wished to have several samples prepared for his contact with St. Mungo's. The second was an experimental potion with the pitcher plant he'd gotten in from the garden store. Pitcher plants used a caustic sludge inside their flower to attract and digest insects unlucky enough to fall into its trap. In a potions journal Snape had last seen in the archives of the Wizarding Public Library, a potion containing this plant's secretions had proven remarkably useful in removing pigments and dyes from robes and housewares.

Snape merely had to find a reactionary agent to prevent the likely caustic skin reaction that would occur.

He sat perched on his stool in an old work shirt and stained jacket, his elbows resting on the worktable and his fingers steeped in front of his chin. Potter had been rather surprisingly civil that morning. Regardless of what Minerva had said, Snape refused to apologize on principle of Potter's privacy violation. They were now even, as Potter had said.

Something outside the cellar window caught Snape's attention and he glanced up, seeing the leaves of the low garden shrubs whisking against the window. Snape made a mental note to question Potter about his security wards, and opened a large tome on Mediterranean botanicals. The Wolfsbane potion bubbled slowly to his left, emitting a musky, earth-like smell that Snape would forever associate with werewolves.

…

The phone rang in Harry's office early on Saturday afternoon, interrupting Harry's sing-along with the ChizzWizz kids magical radio station. Ever grateful for that, Harry answered to find out that the police had arrested a suspect in the forgery case early that morning and were requesting his verification on the forgery supplies they'd found.

As Snape had buggered off to the cellar to work on his dark mark potion, Harry decided to take Theo with him. Enid was always happy to play with Theo for half an hour, and the supervisor said he'd only need to come in for that long.

Just before leaving, Harry debated whether to leave a note for Snape or not. They seemed to have decided by unspoken agreement not to mention either the pensieve or Harry's books again, and were working on 'civil.' Figuring common courtesy was best, Harry scribbled a quick 'out, back this afternoon' on a scrap of paper and left it on the counter. As much as he wanted to put a reminder to stay out of his room and office, Harry resisted.

"Come on, little monkey. Let's go see how Barty Crouch managed to counterfeit notes."

Theo, dressed in khaki trousers and a blue monkey shirt, snuggled into Harry's arms. Harry quickly cast the spells that would stop Theo from changing his physical appearance, including any tail additions, and with a tight hug, they apparated away.

…

Harry walked with Theo through New Scotland Yard, finding Enid at her desk. Theo smiled shyly at her, holding tight to his stuffed monkey toy. Enid had seen Theo a few times, and had a few toys in her desk for when Harry brought him around. At least, she told Harry the toys were for Theo, but Harry suspected that Enid played with them as well, when she was trying to work through a particularly stubborn case.

Harry told Theo he'd be right back, and sat him to play on Enid's desk. Harry headed down the hall to the supervisor's office, glancing once again at the photo of Crouch on the suspects wall. His supervisor had several more stacks of notes on his desk, along with three different types of muggle scratch tickets. A sheaf of blank paper, likely the blanks for the notes, rested in the centre of the desk, and a small bag of miscellaneous bits and bobs used in the reproductions were also there.

"We caught him this morning, trying to pass a twenty-quid note," Harry's supervisor said, a lopsided grin on the man's face.

"Has he con- has he said anything?" Harry asked, wondering what Barty Crouch Jr could possibly have to say. Or be capable of saying.

"Told us everything," the supervisor answered, leading Harry down to the interview room. "Almost everything, actually. I'll need you to take a look at some of his recent work, and see if you can figure out how he managed it so well."

"Are you interviewing him now?" Harry asked, curious to see Crouch in action. "Perhaps I can listen to what he says about making them, just for a minute."

"Sure, sure," the supervisor said, opening a door to the side of the interview room. It was the area that people could observe from, unnoticed to those in the interview room.

" – … chose these specific shops to pass the money at, as they have lower numbers of security cameras and a predictable customer traffic flow."

Harry stopped dead just inside the door, blinking as he looked through the glass. There was no mistaking the person on the other side; it was the same haircut, the same slightly puzzled facial expression, dull eyes, and semi-monotonous voice.

"He's got an odd name, that one. Cornelius Amyntas Fudge."

"Sounds old fashioned," Harry muttered, watching Fudge sit perfectly still in the chair, answering every question that came his way as if he were merely answering questions about a train schedule.

"He was caught on Piccadilly road," the supervisor said. "It's not the one from the security tapes, though."

"No, that one was too skinny," Harry distractedly said, staring at Fudge. The supervisor led them back down toward his office, where he had the money that he wanted Harry to look over.

Down the hall Harry could hear Theo laughing madly at Enid and the finger puppets she'd produced, and he monitored that sound in the back of his mind as the supervisor showed him the notes. They were undoubtedly from the same batch of forgeries, as everything was identical. Right down to the mis-coloration of the hologram.

"You said this bloke had a stack of these?" Harry asked, holding up £20 and looking for the thin metallic sliver threaded through it.

"Yes. He was easy to find, as well. Wearing a suit with the longest coattails I've ever seen."

The supervisor passed Harry a photo taken of the suspect, and Harry tried to hide his surprise at seeing Cornelius Fudge in a muggle booking photo.

"What was he when he was arrested?" Harry asked, coughing. He let his hand drop to his side and winced as it hit the sharp edges of a plant the supervisor had in his office.

"Calm, collected," the supervisor shrugged. "Admitted to everything, and didn't seem too bothered about all the charges he faced."

Harry still stared at the photo, his mind working furiously. There was absolutely no way that Cornelius Fudge, in his right mind, would ever easily admit wrongdoing.

"Well, they're from the same batch," Harry concluded, giving the supervisor a smile and indicating the notes. "But I don't think he's the only one making these."

They walked back down the hall to the outer office, and Theo started clapping when he saw Harry again.

"He's confessed to being the mastermind," the supervisor pointed out. "And that's what he's being charged with."

"Right," Harry easily agreed. "But this level of work...it's hard to do alone."

Picking up Theo and waving goodbye, they left the station and headed down a side street near New Scotland Yard.

"Watch, Theo," Said Harry, with an easy smile. "Expecto patronum!"

The stag glided out of Harry's wand and pranced around the alley, much to the absolute delight of Theo.

"Doe! Doe!"

"No, it's a deer, a stag."

"Deliver message to Kingsley: Fudge arrested by muggles, need meeting with Muggle liaison office."

…

Harry took Theo to the market, letting him jabber to the stall owners and help pick out something for dinner. Theo loved smashed potatoes and carrots, and Harry had recently had success getting him to eat broccoli.  
"Hee hee, eee aaa" Theo cheered, as Harry picked out some stalks. "That's right, Theo," Harry encouraged. "Monkeys love trees, even mini ones."

As Harry walked through the market, he wondered about what Ron had said about Snape the day before. There was no possible way Snape could like him, hell, Snape had openly loathed him for six years at school. But then, Harry didn't really recognise any of the signs of liking a person, so Ron could possibly be telling the truth. It was certainly possible, and Ron had a point about Snape hurting the people he liked.

Harry tried to imagine what it would be like to have Snape live at the house on long-term basis. Snape was grumpy, combative, made the house smell funny, and had questionable ethics. He was quiet though, understood the hell Harry had gone through in the war (had even caused some of it), could be quite funny, brilliant, and made Harry feel safe. He was also horrifically stubborn, and it was one of the stumbling blocks for the ease of shared accommodation.

Walking toward a call box apparition point, Harry balanced both Theo and the groceries in his arms. Perhaps Snape would stay on as a boarder for a while longer, even thought he'd gotten a job. Harry didn't need the money, but Snape's moody presence made the house seem more settled, as ironic as that was.

Harry distractedly arrived back to the house, landing with a large crack in the eating room and nearly toppling over. He did a quick check to make sure all bits of him and Theo had arrived safely, before dropping the groceries to the table. He put Theo in the playpen with his toys, and Harry set to work putting the groceries away. It was all well and good that he'd decided he actually liked having Snape in the house, but Harry knew (and had read), that relationships for asexuals were difficult and rather rare to get right. How many people were willing to be in a relationship where sex wasn't on offer? And did Harry really want a relationship, or was it just friendship?

Harry shook his head and filled the tin with fresh tea. Snape definitely would want sex in any relationship he was in. Harry remembered the surprising smell of a man's cologne around Snape when he'd come home the other night.

Harry checked in the jam jar in the tea cupboard, looking for some money to pay the milkman. There were a few notes in there, and he stuck them to the fridge with a magnet so he'd not forget.  
…

Rain started up again shortly before supper, causing Harry to grumble. He'd planned to do some laundry and hang it outside, but the weather had other ideas in mind. Glancing at his briefcase in the corner of the room, Harry wondered if Kingsley had arranged for anyone to go down to the police station and see about getting Fudge released. He supposed Fudge would be charged with misuse of a muggle artefact, but Harry still couldn't figure out why Fudge would want to counterfeit muggle money. He'd all but fled office, sure, but Fudge wasn't poor.

Snape surfaced from the cellar around four, looking slightly flustered, but pleased. Theo had passed out in his playpen, one leg stuck up on a funny angle and his little arms wrapped possessively around his stuffed monkey. Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, doing English homework.

"Who is teaching you English?" Snape asked, waiting for the kettle to boil and studying Harry.

"Aunt Minerva," Harry replied, not looking up.

Snape seemed to find this acceptable, as it was another minute before he said anything else.

"If you are still in need of a science professor, I would be available twice a week."

This time Harry did look up. Even though Harry had declared them even after the closet incident, it seemed Snape was extending an olive branch.

"Sure, that'd be great, thanks."

Snape nodded.  
In the back garden a crack sounded as a large branch fell out one of the trees near the back fence. Both Harry and Snape looked up and out, but it was rather overcast and there didn't seem to be anything in the garden.

"What happened to your hand, Potter?" Snape asked, his eyes narrowed in on the rather long paper cut on Harry's hand.

"A plant attacked me," Harry said, scowling at the cut. It almost crossed over the words left from Umbridge's blood quill.

"At a muggle office?" Snape sardonically asked.

"Actually, yes. It was an aloe plant. The thin leaf thing gave me a paper cut, and then the goo it left on my hand partially healed it. Annoying, but helpful."

Harry went back to his homework, not noticing Snape's widened eyes and triumphant look. Snape left the kitchen immediately, not bothering to say anything more to Harry.

Unnoticed, the man stood across the street from Harry's house, watching the traffic passing by and getting an idea of the habits of the residents on Alwyne Street.


	6. Chapter 6

  
_Ministry of Magic Atrium, office window seventh column to the left and six rows up from the Ministry Entrance Gate._

An elderly and easy-paced wizard stands in the window, watching over the darkened atrium that on a Saturday night contains only a few custodial staff members and the cleaners. The wizard's name is unknown to nearly every office owner, but four nights out of seven he enters their offices and ensures that not only the Floo traps are functioning properly, but that the appropriate clearance levels are set for each fireplace, and the Floo pots are stocked with enough powder.

He has been doing this job for decades, and has never disturbed the various items belonging to the office owner, but just moments earlier found a letter that was not addressed to him. Stuck in the Floo of Mathilda Botsnair's office, the very one he was in, was an unsealed letter sent in reply to a query regarding Wolfsbane. The wizard greedily reads the details, his eyes leaping to the name Severus Snape in the letter, and the very large size of the order.

The letter is folded back up and carefully placed on the desk behind the wizard, who is now watching the Ministry house elves wash the atrium floor. He is smiling to himself, not because he is one of the few to ever see the elves, but because his young grandson had been bitten by a werewolf in the war, and past transgressions aside, the wizard has heard nothing but good things about the brewing skills of one Severus Snape.

…

The man stopped in front of the mirror in the hall, checking his reflection and ensuring his clothing hung properly. It was a bit too tight, tighter than what he was accustomed to wearing and in far more garishly bright colour. He did wish to attract attention on this outing though, so he was satisfied, if slightly uncomfortable. A small charm on his necklace, for the patron saint of gambling, clinked softly against the miniature crystal ball that hung next to it.

He idly contemplated taking the correct wand, but the lotto office was situated just outside the bank, and he couldn't take the chance that it would be staffed by a goblin.

The man stacked twenty five thousand pounds in fifty pound notes on the table, pleased at the sight, and cast a spell to transform the crisp, untouched notes into worn and dirty money.

Placing the stacks into a small attaché case, the man checked to see if he'd forgotten anything else. He looked in disgust over the filth in the kitchen, dishes lying forgotten in the sink and several containers of pre-packaged ready-to-eat meals in a paper sack standing atop the rubbish bin, not in it. Before his family had been torn apart, the man had never even known magical ready-meals existed.

He left the kitchen and stood in the hall to regain his thoughts and set himself back on task. It took him a few minutes to find the trademark Wimbourne Wasps handkerchief for his jacket pocket, but once located it was properly folded and placed, and the man left the house.

The man felt nothing of the light rain as he walked down Charing Cross, avoiding the muggle tourists who were trying to take photographs of the skyline from odd angles whilst covered in large plastic cloaks. Just before entering The Leaky Cauldron, the man considered his handkerchief again and pushed it in his pocket to an untidy scrunch.

He scowled as he walked through the bar, eyeing a group of teenage Hufflepuffs in Diagon Alley to collect their school things. Tom at the bar gave him a puzzled wave, and the man remembered that he was supposed to be a happy and jovial wizard. One of the boys stopped him before he could pass through and asked for his autograph, which the man quickly gave with a shaky hand. That had not been an anticipated part of his plan.

Walking quickly and with his head down, the man swerved his way through Diagon Alley and to the small marble stall outside of Gringotts. There was a goblin on duty, along with a ministry official, and both gave him a dubious look as he placed his attaché case on the counter. The goblin was suspicious of him, and the man was glad he'd brought a different wand for the transaction.

"I have been told; my inner eye has indicated that I will be the winner of tonight's lotto," the man said, faking excitement and trying to look greedy.

"You and three hundred others," the goblin grumbled.

"I'll be back in the big times again," the man wistfully said, ignoring the goblin. "Sold my home abroad to come back here to play."

"How many tickets would you like, sir?" the ministry official asked, looking like a smug fisherman who'd caught a very large and stupid fish.

"Can I buy them with muggle money?" the man asked mock eagerly, playing his part like he'd planned. "Sold the house to a muggle, and the inner eye is telling me to put it all to the lotto."

The man lifted up the cheap crystal ball replica on his chain and gave it a large show kiss. He then opened the bag and showed the goblin and the ministry wizard the stacks of pounds. The ministry wizard broke out into a smile like he'd won the lotto himself, and the goblin's expression was suddenly warmer than before.

"I believe we can accommodate your request," the goblin informed him.

"I'll take a thousand tickets then," the man said, pushing the bag over. Twenty-five thousand muggle pounds – a value of five thousand galleons – were handed over, and the man quickly pocketed the resulting lotto tickets, ensuring to smile politely at both the goblin and the assistant. He kept his gaze on them as the assistant wished him good luck, long enough that both goblin and wizard would remember his face when they were later questioned about the transaction.

….

There was a refreshing break from the rain on Saturday evening, but the high winds more than made up for it. Harry's street was nestled well in the city, but there were large trees in the back and front garden, and their branches scraped angrily on the windows as the wind pushed them around.

Theo had just been put down to bed, and Harry was watching a show on the telly about European high-speed trains. Snape had surfaced from the cellar in a good mood, and was puttering about in the kitchen. His arm was bandaged, where the Dark Mark was, but he'd only glared when Harry had asked him about the progress.

"Has the lotto draw commenced?" Snape asked, somehow sneaking into the living room and startling Harry so much that he nearly dropped his drink.

"If they had, it wouldn't be on the BBC," Harry replied, wiping dribbled water from his chin.

Snape took an exaggerated breath and gave Harry a look.

"Do you have a radio that will give me the results?" Snape asked in a forced slow tone.

"That one works," Harry said, helpfully pointing to a bright dinosaur children's radio he'd gotten in Diagon Alley for Theo's first birthday.

"Lovely," Snape muttered. He took the radio anyway, and fiddled with the dials until he found the news.

"What will you do with your grand winnings? Retire on an island?" Harry asked, noticing Snape's pleased face as he checked his ticket.

"Not that it is any of your business, Potter, but fifty galleons is not much to retire on."

"Maybe not," Harry considered, turning down the volume on the TV. "But hey, that'll buy you all new robes for working at St Mungo's."

"I am aware of that," Snape haughtily replied, his expression telling Harry that it was exactly what Snape planned to spend the money on.

"When do you start?" Harry asked, turning on the closed captioning so he could still understand the programme over Snape's radio broadcast.

"Not for another week," Snape answered, folding his lotto ticket and placing it carefully in his wallet. "Why, are you looking forward to me vacating the house?"

"What? Where did you get that idea?" Harry asked, sitting up in the recliner. He narrowed his eyes at Snape's triumphant smirk.

"You're not," Snape confirmed, crossing his arms carefully. "You're happy I'm here."

He sat down on the couch, sitting more casually than Harry had ever seen him do.

"I already told you you're welcome to stay," Harry huffed. "How low is your self esteem that you have to trick people into admitting they like having you around?"

Harry could tell instantly that he was approaching dangerous territory. Snape, other than a slight tightening of his jaw, kept his cool.

"My self esteem is none of your concern," Snape warned.

"Well, but do you do that at the bar when you're trying to attract someone? I hardly think picking a fight over someone's opinion is going to work very well," Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"How kind of you to offer your opinion on relationships, Mr Potter. An amazing feat, given your predilections," Snape said. "Or lack thereof."

"Lots of asexual people are in relationships with non-asexuals," Harry pointed out, warming up for a debate. "Just because we're not all that interested in sex, doesn't mean it's not something we can do to please our partner."

"The ultimate self-sacrificing Gryffindor," Snape said, and his scoff wasn't quite derogatory. "Not even you can keep up the duty of giving sex three or four times a week."

"Three or four times a week?" Harry asked, slightly disbelieving. "That's...often. But I think I could. I mean - I generally don't mind the physical sensations of sex."

"Of masturbation, perhaps, but not the real thing. You couldn't handle it," Snape immediately replied, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the couch.

Surprised, Harry looked closely at Snape, at his relaxed and slouched posture on the couch. The hair on one side of his face was hooked behind his ear, something that Harry had never, ever imagined Snape doing, and his bandaged arm was resting carefully on a cushion.

"Have you been drinking?"

The black eyes opened and focused on Harry.

"A pain potion with an unforeseen minor reaction with aloe ingredients. I have never seen the point of unnecessarily bearing pain, especially when burning my own skin."

He said it so calmly that Harry sputtered.

"You burnt your bloody skin off? Wouldn't it have just been easier to ignore the tattoo?"

This earned Harry a strong glare. Snape still refused to talk about the tattoo, and if Harry were honest with himself, he'd probably want to get rid of the scar on his forehead if he could.

They sat in silence for a few moments, as an antiques show came on the TV and a bunch of middle-aged housewives started bragging about hidden treasures in their homes.

"I wouldn't be rubbish at it," Harry suddenly said, his mind still stuck on Snape's proclamation.

"The study of statistics and probability provide reason that there are some things you aren't 'rubbish' at," Snape said, his eyes closed.

"I mean the sex. I could do it."

Snape laughed at this, a small chuckle that sounded more like he was laughing at the idea and less at Harry himself.

"Oh? And how would you manage to look interested? Most people prefer an involved partner, not one that lies back and thinks of quidditch."

"That's a bit personal," Harry said, hoping his face wasn't too red. Chasing a snitch was exactly what he thought of when he tried to chase an orgasm to get rid of his erection.

Snape didn't seem to be fully listening though, as he had his eyes closed again and was flexing his bandaged arm slowly. Harry couldn't decide if he liked this medicated version of Snape, who didn't seem to come with much of a verbal filter.

"You'd at least be something pleasant to look at in bed," Snape continued, seeming to speak more to himself than Harry.

" _What?_ " Harry asked, staring dumbly at Snape.

Snape lifted his head and seemed to realize that he'd spoken that last thought aloud.

"Wait, are you attracted to me?" Harry asked, more than a little bewildered. "All these years you've told me I look just like my father. And I know exactly what you thought of him."

Snape gave him a one-over and shrugged.

"You're one of my types. Your father never had the battle scars you have, nor your mother's eyes, nor your expressions."

"How much of that potion did you take?" Harry asked, glancing at Snape's arm.

"You asked, Potter," Snape strongly replied.

"Yeah. That's near the top on a list of things I never thought I'd hear you say," Harry said, still a bit surprised.

"I said you were one of my types," Snape corrected. "As in, I would consider accepting a date invitation. I realize that being asexual has left you with very little experience, but I can assure you that people don't magically attract themselves to others," Snape said, snorting to himself and the very thought. "It is much more realistic to find a person you tolerate and grow to that attraction."

"I think that's what Ron and Hermione did," Harry said, smiling. "With quite a bit of annoyance in there as well. Must have been all that sexual tension that caused them to fight."

Snape wasn't listening, he appeared to be thinking over a quandary.

"Potter, answer me this," Snape said, sitting up on the couch and focusing on Harry. "How will you know that you'll tolerate sex in a relationship if you've no interest in it?"

"I like the physical feeling of orgasm," Harry admitted, trying to calm himself so he could have an adult conversation about an adult topic without acting like an embarrassed teenager.

"Curious," Snape replied, scrutinizing Harry. "And yet you're not attracted to anyone, so you do not fantasize about people."

"Well, what do you think of?" Harry asked back, curious.

"Flesh," Snape answered, seemingly unembarrassed with the subject. As a student Harry likely would have thought himself crazy to imagine that Snape would openly talk about sex. At least, openly discuss while under a pain potion. "Taste, touch, smell. Feel."

Snape smirked victoriously as Harry scrunched his face up and turned the channel on the telly.

"Accepting sex with a relationship is one thing, Potter," Snape said, standing up and heading for the hall. "Reciprocating evenly is completely different."

…

Harry went to bed around eleven, fed up with the rubbish on TV. Ron and Hermione were out on a date night, and Harry had a policy never to become the third wheel on nights like that.

"This is why I want a partner," Harry exhaled in frustration.

Wide-awake and not desiring to get up and do work downstairs; Harry glanced around his room for something to do. The books beside his bed were interesting, but Harry knew that they'd likely keep him more awake if he got into them. The muggle fiction, at least – he definitely wasn't in the mood for a parenting book. Just as Harry flopped back down on the bed, he heard Snape passing by overhead, moving from the front room to the bathroom.

Snape had been relatively tolerable that day, Harry considered, as he mentally reviewed their evening conversations. Still somewhat sarcastic, but he had raised a point that Harry was suddenly curious to disprove.

"I can enjoy sex if I want," Harry grumbled, flipping back the covers and getting out of bed. He definitely didn't have any lube, but Harry thought there might be something to use in the bathroom.

Creaking the door open absurdly slow, Harry slid his socked feet evenly down the hall and toward the washroom. He had no idea why he felt the need to sneak, as it was his bloody house and his bloody washroom, but he did anyway. The washroom was stocked with baby-powdered scent lotion, and that was just about enough to make Harry abort his mission. As a last-chance idea, he looked in the box under the sink cabinet, which was filled with odds and ends. It had been a gift from the Weasley brothers when he'd first brought Theo home, and the box was labelled "Surprise! You're a Daddy!"

Lifting the small bottles of headache reliever and marker-remover, Harry spotted a bag called 'No More Surprises.' Harry grinned a little as he dumped out the bag and found three condoms in it.

Back in his room (with the door locked and a one-way silencing charm), Harry lay back on the bed in just his sleep pants, No action was occurring in said pants, and Harry was having difficulty thinking of something to jumpstart himself with. The thought of other wizards and witches gave him nothing, And Harry just ended up smirking as he tried to picture Snape naked. Telling himself he needed to be serious, Harry cleared his mind and thought and Snape's hands on him instead. That helped a bit, but he got carried away and started focusing on the details of the room he imagined he was in instead. Growling in frustration, Harry picked up his wand and pointed it at the small hand towel he'd brought, animating it with the only massage charm he knew. It wasn't perfect, but it got him hard enough for the condom. A step in the right direction, at least.

…

Sunday brought a small break in the weather, with patches of sun breaking through the heavy grey clouds that hung over London. Theo and Harry had spent the morning cleaning out Harry's office, sorting old files, and compiling bundles of tax papers for tax season. It hadn't taken long for Theo to start fussing, as he'd wanted to go outside for a few days, but the weather hadn't co-operated. Fortunately for Harry, Minerva had stopped by with lunch and volunteered to take Theo out.

Halfway through organizing his case notes on the most recent counterfeiting case with Fudge, Harry heard a strong two-knocks on his front door.

Harry headed to the door, casting a light Identify-Me spell at it as he moved. The rain hadn't quite started up again, fortunately, Harry thought as he opened the door with a smile.

"Hullo! Wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. Has there been a change in the order?"

"No, no, the order is fine, Mr Potter," Ashley said, taking his cap off and scratching his forehead. He held up a fresh glass jar of milk for Harry, small sweat beads of condensation causing a slight ripple on the edges of the paper label.

"Cheers," Harry said, accepting the bottle and putting it inside on the small table that he'd placed at the front to catch keys, hats, mitts, and other miscellanea.

"I've actually come to discuss a security matter, Mr Potter. One I've noticed over the past couple of weeks." Ashley said, coughing politely. Instantly, Harry's muscles stiffened and he slipped his wand down his sleeve to his hand.

"What sort of security matter? My house has quite a few protections on it, Mr…" Harry coolly said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he studied the man.

"It's Mr Creevey," Ashley supplied, keeping eye contact with Harry. "Ashley Creevey. I believe you know my sons."

Harry let his wand slide out of his sleeve, resting it in the palm of his hand as he stared at Ashley. He was the same mid-fifties, friendly looking milkman that came round once a week since they'd lived there. Mr Creevey had grey hair at his temples and a salt & pepper colouring in his beard, with some spotting of hair loss on the top of his head. He had the same eyes that Colin had, and Harry could see Dennis' chin on Mr Creevey. He looked troubled, and kept folding the brim of his uniform hat inward.

"I was there…I'm so sorry about Colin," Harry said. His mind was reeling through a checklist: Theo was out at Highbury Fields with Aunt Minerva, the only box of heirlooms from his family were hidden in the office under a loose floorboard, a large sack of a hundred galleons were in the kitchen in a jam jar, and Snape was downstairs in the cellar. As a low grumble of very distant thunder made its way across the sky, Harry kicked himself mentally for not thinking of a way to alert Snape of danger.

"From what I'm told, he died creating a better world," Ashley said, propping his hat back on his head. He didn't make a move to enter, and seemed to understand that Harry was gauging the level of threat risk from Ashley.

"That he did," Harry mumbled.

"Well, you've got a nutter loose in it again," Ashley finished. Harry gave him a curious look, and finally invited him into the kitchen for some tea.

"There is another person in the house," Harry warned, gesturing to the kitchen table. Ashley didn't so much sit down as just dropped into the chair.

"I'm a harmless muggle, as I think you say," Ashley said, holding up his hands. "But the bloke I've been talkin' to, somethin's got his sleeve in a knit."

Harry puzzled over that as he fetched a plate of biscuits from the pantry. Downstairs he heard a few bangs, but they sounded more like a cauldron being banged than a human. Harry figured if he heard yelling he'd go and make sure Snape was all right.

"Who's this bloke then?" Harry asked, dumping four healthy teaspoons of English afternoon tea into the pot.

"Dunno then, do I," Ashley answered. He'd taken his wallet out of his pocket, likely to sit more comfortably at the table, and the way he played with the edges of the wallet reminded Harry of how Colin used to fiddle with the little dials and buttons on his camera.

"Looked slightly different every time I saw him, like he was wearing a disguise but forgot what little detail he needed to finish it."

"Definitely a wizard?" Harry asked, pouring hot water into the kettle.

"Sure. Wore the weird clothes your lot always does. Seemed like a loner at first, but then…something wasn't right."

Harry nodded, walking to the table with the teapot and two mugs.

"So, this man contacts you out of the blue, and asks you to spy on me?" Harry asked, stirring sugar into his tea.

"No," Ashley said, adding honey to his. "Works for that Ministry of yours. Told me he was sick of all the corruption there, and that if I did a few odd jobs for him, he'd find me the money I should have gotten when Colin was killed. Wrongful death benefits and all that."

Harry stopped pouring milk into his mug and looked up.

"No one got any money. We have the lotto now, for the rebuilding effort," Harry said confused. "But no one got danger pay or anything."

"I heard about the lotto, Dennis plays it. But this bloke said he should have gotten the benefits too, but he wanted revenge more."

"Revenge for what?" Harry asked, dunking a biscuit into his tea. He tried to think of who was left from the war that would want revenge, but was coming up empty handed. The only death eater still free was currently brewing a noxious potion in the basement, and Harry was fairly certain they were past the revenge stage.

"Never said," Ashley answered, waving his hand over the tea to cool it down. "Something about his family torn apart, but that happened to us all, I reckon."

Harry had often considered how hard it must have been for muggle parents to understand that their children, who had just joined a heretofore-unknown magical world, were in the middle of a huge war. He couldn't fathom what Mr Creevey must have gone through, finding out his son had been killed in a battle at a place he'd never seen, a place he could likely only conceive in his imagination.

"Theo, my son, he lost both his real parents," Harry offered, watching rain hit the deck outside. "Just like I did."

"I know," Ashley said. "Your little one, a year and a half old, yeah?"

Harry nodded, sipping his tea.

"You take him to playgroup on Tuesdays, you go to work four days a week, and your friends come over Monday, Wednesday, Friday."

Ashley said it in a neutral tone, but Harry still froze with his mug just shy of his mouth.

"Why are you telling me this now? If you know all this, why are you on my side all of a sudden?"

Ashley took a big gulp of tea, and seemed to be considering the answer. Harry wished once again that he had even a mediocre of Snape's legilimency skills, just to confirm that Ashley was telling the truth.

"I lost my boy in your war too. But it don't mean I wish anyone else's kid harm so I can feel better."

"He was going to hurt Theo?" Harry immediately demanded, slamming his mug on the table.

"Never said. But he's gone off. I didn't take the chance to see," Ashley answered.

On a flash of inspiration, Harry raised his wand and flicked it toward the study; summoning a photograph he'd nabbed the last time he was at New Scotland Yard.

"Do you know this man?" Harry asked, holding up a photo of Crouch.

Ashley squinted at it, and then held it as far away from himself as his arm could manage.

"Yeah, met him a few times. Not quite right, if you know what I mean."

"He has no soul," Harry supplied, staring at the blank face of Crouch in the lotto shop.

"Well, that's a bit harsh, innit?" Ashley asked, studying the photograph again. "Didn't do much anyway, just bought some tickets."

"Who makes the money?" Harry asked, taking a chance that Ashley Creevey was involved in the rash of counterfeited notes as well.

"The bloke does," Ashley shrugged, as if high treason against the Crown was no big deal. "Never got the impression he needed it."

"Is this him?" Harry asked, holding up a clipping from Thursday's _Daily Prophet_. In the photo was Cornelius Fudge, taken at the Ministry of Magic where he'd gone to protest for stronger anti-muggle baiting laws.

"No," Ashley said, shaking his hand. "That's your old Minister, isn't it?"

"He was, yeah," Harry replied, puzzled now. He couldn't figure out who would want to target him, target Fudge, and make counterfeit muggle money. It made absolutely no sense.

"The bloke I met is a bit taller, longer hair, sometimes blond and curly. Other times it's brown 'n stringy," Ashley said, closing his eyes as he tried to picture the man in his head again. "Solid body, bit overweight. Seemed like in another life he'd had a friendly face."

"The problem with wizards, Mr Creevey, is that we can easily change our looks with a potion or spell. My son can even do it on his own, without any potion."

"Too complicated for me," Ashley said, finishing his tea and putting his mug back down on the table. He was fidgeting in his seat, as if he didn't want to stay long at Harry's house in case he was spotted.

"Where is the little one, anyway?"

"At...he's out," Harry said, suddenly getting a very uneasy feeling in his stomach. "Do you know where this man is right now?"

"Well, that's the thing, Mr Potter. I was to meet him early this morning, but he didn't show," Ashley said. "So I figured I'd come here and warn you, since somethin' must have spooked him."

"I gotta go," Harry abruptly said, standing up. He summoned one of the magnets from the fridge and handed it to Ashley, giving the man a quick thanks before the portkey activated. It only took Ashley out to the street, but it was useful and there were quite a few portkeys in the kitchen to use with people when Harry needed to clear the house quickly in case of emergency.

Spinning on the spot to apparate, Harry's only thought was an aching wish that Theo and Minerva were safe.

…

Harry raced through the park as he scanned the playground, his eyes moving as fast as the storm clouds as he looked for his son. The park was fortunately on the empty side, as most were apprehensive of the rain and had opted to keep their children and pets indoors. Even so, Harry was slightly aware of the odd looks thrown his way as he looked frantically for them.

Rounding one corner of the park, Harry saw a short, stubby person shuffling along the path, making his way to a swing set on a small hill. Harry's first thought was that the man was almost rat-like, with thin stubby legs, a much larger middle section, and stringy dirty hair.

"Daddy!"

The cheerful call broke right through Harry's thoughts and he ran to the swings, scooping Theo out to give him a big hug.

"What a surprise, Harry. You're not-" Minerva started.

"Someone's been watching the house;" Harry interrupted.

Minerva immediately tensed and had her wand drawn at her side, her eyes furrowed as she surveillance the park.

"Back to the wards, Mr Potter," Minerva commanded.

"The kitchen," Harry confirmed, holding Theo tightly and watching the man slowly move toward a bench. It was prohibited to apparate in front of muggles, but Harry's nerves were racing and he itched to eschew the rules.

"Aunt Minerva, does that man look familiar to you?" Harry quietly asked, while Theo jabbered away in his ear. The man was scratching his side with his right hand, and looked a bit too suspicious for Harry's liking.

"Like Peter Pettigrew," she answered. "I thought he'd died."

She waited beside him, waiting for the man to leave so they could apparate. Theo started to fuss in Harry's arms, wanting to play again.

"He did. I saw it."

The bright red plastic pole of the playground support beside them suddenly cracked loudly, and Harry didn't get the chance to reply anything else. He ducked and scuttled under the playground, looking around wildly and spotting Barty Crouch calmly standing amongst a small group of trees, wand raised.

"Harry, go!" Minerva yelled, easily twisting out of Crouch's curse aim.

To his left, the man sprung up from the bench and whipped a wand out of his side pocket. Another hex was sent their way; Harry dodged just in time to feel a ripple of air disturbance around his shoulder. Theo started crying, pointing his finger out and saying "bad man!" Harry's fight or flight complex kicked in, and he apparated out of the park holding Theo strongly in his arms, muggles be damned.

…

Landing back in the kitchen awkwardly, Harry tripped over a chair and fell, twisting his body to cradle Theo from a hard landing. Theo was howling, his face red as he cried from fear and feeling Harry's unease.

"It's okay Theo, Daddy's here," Harry comforted, kissing Theo's angry red hair. He tried to check for bruises but Theo was holding on with a strong grip and refused to be budged.

"Mama!" Theo bawled, his voice becoming raw. Theo cried loudly, his sobs muffled only slightly by the phlegm in his throat.

"Mumma!"

Harry flailed his fingers, looking utterly lost and yet still trying to comfort the little boy. He sat on the kitchen floor, trying to summon Theo's stuffed monkey.

"It's Daddy, Theo. Daddy's got you. Daddy loves you," Harry tried; flustered that he couldn't calm Theo down. He heard the door to the cellar open and saw only a flash of Snape before Snape went back downstairs.

Minerva arrived a moment later, her hair slightly out of place but otherwise looking no worse for wear.

"Aunt Minerva!" Harry uttered, looking as upset as Theo was. "He wants; she's not...his mum is gone."

Minerva strode quickly to them and knelt down, her arms encompassing both Harry and Theo at once.

"Shhh, it's alright lad," she said, her Scottish accent gaining some strength. "It is instinct to call for one's mother as a child."

Her hand joined Harry's rubbing Theo's back, and Harry was relieved when Theo held on tighter and didn't go to Minerva.

"He knows you're his dad. You likely cried the same way at your Aunt's home."

For some reason, that clenched hard in Harry's stomach and his eyes stung sharply.

"I can't remember crying for my mother."

Minerva's face remained passive at that, but Harry could tell from the tightened lines in her face and the narrowing of her eyes that she had a long-standing strong opinion of Harry's upbringing. Instead of mentioning it though, she stood, went to the fridge, and prepared a bottle of slightly warmed milk for Theo.

"Go change him, Harry, then give him the bottle. He'll need a good nap while we discuss what happened."

"Right," Harry softly replied, his fingers methodically carding through Theo's black hair. The little boy had changed his features so he looked exactly like Harry. "Are you going to make tea?"

"Yes," Minerva replied, filling the kettle and gazing at the cellar door. "And a colleague of mine shall drop everything to help me treble the wards on this home."

Snape appeared at the cellar door at that moment, as if there'd been a taboo spell on his name that had summoned him. He wordlessly handed Harry a small eyedropper with light blue liquid in it, a fruity-sweet smell emanating from the open bottom. Theo eyed it carefully, his head tucked into Harry's neck and two fingers in his mouth as he whimpered slightly.

"All of it, in the baby's bottle," Snape clarified, to Harry's puzzled look. "A form of calming draught."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Does it have am – "

"Made without ammonium carbonate, as per Theodore's allergy restrictions," Snape confirmed, sounding unconcerned as he withdrew his wand and summoned his cloak. The weather was turning nasty again; with fat rain droplets starting to randomly spatter on the back deck.

"That's…thank you," Harry said, taking Theo upstairs before he said something stupid. It was no wonder he felt safe with Snape around. Harry had never told Snape about Theo's allergy, as ammonium carbonate wasn't a usual ingredient Harry had in the house for anything. And yet Snape knew. Managing to untangle Theo's strong grasp from his hair, Harry put him down on the changing table and told Theo all about the water that Snape had given to Umbridge as veritaserum in Harry's fifth year.

...

By the time Snape and Minerva had finished with the wards, Harry was sitting in the living room in his favourite reclining chair, holding a pyjama-clad Theo in his arms. Half the bottle was done, and Theo's eyes were barely open as he snuggled against Harry.

Snape stalked into the room quietly, his dripping hair the only sign of the heavy rain outdoors.

"Why no anti-muggle charms, Mr Potter?" Snape asked, though his tone wasn't nearly as scornful as Harry had expected.

"I want Theo to grow up knowing both worlds," Harry responded, still sure that his idea was sound. "Didn't you have a milk man when you were growing up?"

"Hardly," Snape deadpanned.

"I am simply amazed," started Minerva sarcastically, entering the room with a tea set. "That you are both able to get on without shouting. And yet six years at Hogwarts..."

"War," Harry supplied, at the same time that Snape said: "There were witnesses."

Harry winced as he shifted in the chair, putting Theo's dropped bottle on a side table.

"Were you hit?" Minerva asked, looking him over. Harry looked up to the steady inspection of both Snape and Minerva, remembering that he was in the company of two long-time Heads of House.

"No, I think it was just a stupefy spell anyway," Harry said. "I tripped in the kitchen landing back here and fell."

"I'm sure Severus has a potion or two around you can use for the pain," Minerva pronounced, pouring the tea.

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, great."

Snape smirked and Minerva raised her eyebrow.

"Yes, why don't you sweeten them, Severus? Surely a potions master like yourself can neutralize a teaspoon of sugar in a philtre."

"Life isn't sweetened, and so shan't my potions be," Snape replied, shaking his finger sternly at Minerva. "The eccentricities of one witch do not govern..."

"Oh, posh. Mary Poppins was not just an 'eccentric witch.'" Minerva argued back. "She had an outstanding muggle career-"

"And paid dearly in Muggle Exposure fines," Snape interjected.

"And was head of Gryffindor house for five years before that," Minerva finished, over-powering Snape's objection.

"It's alright," Harry said with amusement, interrupting what sounded like an old argument. "I'll just take a hot bath and be fine."

Minerva turned and looked at Snape, her face triumphant like one who had blackmail material on another.

"I'm sure Severus could be of assistance if you need some aches worked out. After all, he knows now that you won't have any untoward feelings arising from it."

Harry flushed bright red, forgetting momentarily about his bruised hip and the danger of the park.

"Isn't it time you returned to Hogwarts?" Snape muttered, moving his tea and biscuits out of Minerva's range. Instead of leaving, however, Minerva steered the conversation toward the attack in the park and how to keep Harry and Theo safe until the wizard and Crouch were found.

...

The man sat at his kitchen table, sorting lotto tickets into winners and losers. Six of the tickets were winners so far, an unexpected draw of thirty-five galleons. He'd not bought the tickets to win the lotto.

Even though London was experiencing another weekend of intermittent rain and thunderstorms, the skies were rather clear three hours away, where the man lived. It was a warm evening, suitable for a pick up quidditch game or two, but the broomsticks in the man's home hadn't been used in years.

He finished sorting his tickets, placing the winning pile in his bag to take to work the next day. He knew, from what he'd found out at work at the Ministry, that the lotto tickets weren't tracked by purchaser and that he'd be safe to cash in on the tickets. Tomorrow he would do so, and find out from the office gossip how much further Fudge had been disgraced.

One more person to teach a lesson to, and then the man would be done. He could get rid of Crouch, not bother with Ashley anymore, and finally feel justified. He just needed to teach Potter that the Boy Who Lived's luck was unnatural and unreliable. It was not fair for Potter to have come out of the war so relatively unscathed. Not when so many other innocent people had suffered.

Looking at the empty spot at his table, a layer of dust on the back of the chair, and thinking over the disaster at the park that morning, the man conceded that Harry Potter's luck was bloody irritating indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

  
The power cut out as Harry was in the middle of making dinner, causing an unusual combination of curse words to fill the kitchen.

"Don't repeat any of that," Harry said, pointing a spatula at Theo at the toddler play table. Theo was playing with his own toy kitchen set, cooking a play dinner, and merely gave Harry a mischievous grin.

Harry uttered a charm to light the elements on the stove again and finished cooking dinner, glancing outside at the impressive dark clouds hovering above.

"The glass eating room has several reinforcement charms on it, because of weather like this," Harry told Theo.

"Food inno haisha boom," Theo confirmed, nodding.

An impressive stench wafted up through the grates from the cellar and Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Dada, eeeuw," Theo said, scrunching his face up.

"Don't look at me, dinner smells good," Harry replied, flicking the oven off and fetching some plates from the upper cabinets.

The plates, cutlery, and glasses floated through the air to the table and Theo toddled to his high chair, watching them with sleepy eyes. He was still in his pyjamas, and Harry planned on putting him to bed early. The morning had been eventful enough for both of them.

Stomping on the floor three times with his foot, Harry brought dinner to the table. Simple spaghetti, with a large salad to compliment, and carrot sticks for Theo. Theo had just been settled into the highchair, waving a carrot stick around like a wand, when Snape appeared.

"Devolved from a patronus message to three primate-sounding thumps on a floor," Snape said, fetching the water jug from the fridge.

"Decided not to show off, you know. Foolish wand waving and all that," Harry good-naturedly replied. He placed Theo's largest bib on the little boy, and cast a quick contain-me-mess charm on the floor under Theo's highchair.

"How's your arm healing?" Harry asked, glancing at the linen wrap around Snape's forearm.

"Suitably," Snape calmly replied. "I shall always have a scar, much like your faded lightning bolt."

"But not in the shape of the mark," Harry finished, twirling spaghetti around his fork.

"No," Snape confirmed. He seemed to be following Harry's line of thought, though, because he also answered an unasked question. "Very few of Voldemort's followers were considered loyal enough to receive the mark. It is unlikely that your attacker from the park carries it."

"As weird as this is to say," Harry started, swallowing a small bite of spaghetti, "he didn't strike me as violent enough to be a death eater."

"Hexing people in a park full of muggles in broad daylight isn't violent enough for you? My my, what a thrill-seeker you have turned out to be," Snape sarcastically commented.

"Bad man," Theo sternly said, spots of spaghetti sauce dotted along his cheeks.

"None of the death eaters I've come across have been very hesitant about using Unforgivables," Harry smartly answered back.

"They are a specialty," Snape considered.

"One way of looking at it," Harry grimly smiled. "In any event, thanks for helping with the wards on the house."

"I live here too, Mr Potter," Snape said, his way of saying 'you're welcome.' "And I'm certain the Gryffindor Golden Three will have figured out the mystery by Friday."

…

The storm hit around nine pm, after warning thunder had rolled through overhead for an hour beforehand. According to a muggle radio that Harry was listening to, a switch of some sort north of his neighbourhood had been hit with a branch that cracked loose from a tree. The power had cut out shortly after nine, and was likely to be out for quite a while until the switch was fixed.

Thankfully, Snape had given Harry another eyedropper of calming draught for Theo's evening bottle, and the baby was sleeping rather soundly in his cot upstairs. Harry was down in the kitchen, however, watching the spectacular flashes of lightning from the glass-enclosed eating area, and messing around with the whiteboard.

Lamenting over the fact that Dudley had never asked for Cluedo as a child, Harry drew a quidditch pitch on the whiteboard. He remembered back five years earlier when he, the Weasleys, and Hermione had gone to see the Quidditch World Cup. As an aside, Harry scribbled down the names of the people he'd met during the event, which up until the appearance of death eaters had been the most amusing trip he'd ever been on.

"Stupid Malfoys," Harry mumbled, writing them on the top of the list. "Crouch senior and junior were there, and Winky, and Weatherby," Harry continued, grinning. Percy had redeemed himself for the final battle, but after Fred had finally healed and come home from St Mungo's, he and George had been on a relentless quest to remind Percy of his idiocy.

"Fudge was there and…hmm," Harry stepped back and looked at the board. "Ludo Bagman."

Crossing out the Malfoys, Winky, and Percy, Harry stared at the names that were left. Harry had highly suspected that Fudge was not the counterfeiter of muggle money, and had just been set up by someone. Barty Crouch Jr had been at the match, and though he was now soul-less, obviously someone had put him to use. And then there was Ludo Bagman, who had been rather friendly and excitable through the match, but had double-crossed the twins with Leprechaun gold. That definitely sounded like the actions of a counterfeiter.

Dropping his marker on the table, Harry headed for the stairs.

…

Snape had been indulging in a bath when the power had gone out, and he'd barely even blinked before lighting several candles with his wand. As a half-blood growing up in a muggle home, Snape had never shied away from using muggle technology, but he was also grateful that small nuisances like power outages were not a large bother for wizards.

The events in the park that morning had slightly concerned Snape. He'd not been much afraid of vigilante seekers for his own sake, but Potter was still very much a young man, with a small child to watch over of his own. Snape had only spent a few weeks living at the house but was quite comfortable in it and didn't want to imagine what sort of reaction a panicked and overly-protective Potter would take.

The rain danced heavily on the roof above Snape's attic washroom, the sounds rather rhythmic and comforting after a long day. Brewing was scheduled to start at St Mungo's a week from Monday, and Snape planned to use this week to organize himself and set a strict schedule to allow for his own personal brews to not be crowded out.

Creaking sounded from somewhere out the bathroom door and below, which Snape recognized as the footfalls of someone ascending the stairs.

"Snape!" Harry called, stopping at what sounded the midway point up the second to third storey stairs.

"Is there a problem?" Snape asked, his low voice rumbling to the hall as he flexed his wrist and summoned a light bathrobe. Snape normally towelled himself off, preferring that over a slightly-too thorough drying charm, but it would have taken longer. The storm sounded quite strong out and Snape figured Harry was slightly twitchy about being in a large dark house while under threat from a malicious wizard.

Snape's lounge trousers, old black workbottoms that had been worn so often that they were extremely comfortable, slipped easily over his thighs as he stretched and made for the door. Snape swung the door open, interrupting Harry's answer, and took pleasure in the look of surprise on Harry's face. Snape knew his body wasn't perfect, but he wasn't fat by any means and for a man who always kept well wrapped up at Hogwarts, appearing shirtless underneath a semi-open bathrobe had caused Harry to lose his train of thought.

"Harry?" Snape asked, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping the left one turned inward.

The name seemed to startle him enough, as Harry shook his head, and then smiled.

"Severus."

Snape kept his arms folded over his chest, his eyebrow lifting as he waited for Harry to finish his thought. It was the only sign he gave - his way of approving the name usage.

"I might have figured out who's been doing the counterfeiting."

"You interrupted my bath for that?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut, looking slightly put out.

"Don't you want to know who attacked Theo and I in the park this morning?"

"It's late on a Sunday night during a thunderstorm. I shall listen to your theory, but I refuse to leave the warm and _protected_ house for that weather."

It seemed like a light dawned in Harry's head, as he smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, there's no way I'm going out in that either."

Snape rolled his eyes slightly, waiting for Harry to go downstairs. The man hesitated, however, as if he were going to say something else and changed his mind at the last minute.

"What else, Mr Potter?" Snape asked.

"Err," Harry blushed, his fingers encircling his wrist where his tattoo was. Snape recognised that it was something Harry did when nervous.

"Theo's down for the night and the power's still out. Want to…er…play some cards as well?"

Snape's arms remained folded.

"Cards?" the tone was derisive and slightly snobby. "As in muggle playing cards?"

"Or you could tell me what you were doing for the last year in hiding?" Harry helpfully suggested.

Snape summoned a shirt from his room, deciding that spending an evening verbally jousting with Harry would at least be something interesting to do, and he might finally confirm his suspicion that Harry wanted Snape to be more than just a boarder in the house.

"The past year was spend convalescing," Snape said, rolling his eyes slightly at Harry. "You were not the only one to be at death's door in the final battle."

He was well aware of Harry's eyes staring at him, specifically at his neck as he put the shirt on. The ugly gashes left by Nagini had turned into slightly pinkish jagged lines, and still looked rather painful.

"I'm sorry I didn't help you then. I was just in shock and…it's no excuse, really," Harry began, his head hanging slightly.

"Stop," Snape said, holding up his left hand. The new scarring on his forearm, that looked like a healed burn, was exposed.

"Had you called any attention to my situation, I am certain that the job would have been more thoroughly seen to," Snape said, pointing at the stairs and corralling Harry down.

For once in his life, Harry kept his mouth shut and nodded. They'd made half way down to the first floor, before he turned and looked at Snape with a glint in his eye.

"Wouldn't it be weird, if one day you and I lived and neither of us owed the other any part of our lives?"

"Shut up and go get your cards, Potter," Snape said, reverting to the last name in irritation.

…

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"I hardly think my answer would refrain you," Snape replied. "And no, I didn't hate you as a student."

"That wasn't what I was going to ask," Harry considered, tilting his head as he looked at Snape. "And how is that even possible? You _despised_ me in school."

"Not quite. You were the reminder, Mr Potter, that even though I'd thrown myself and my case at the mercy of the headmaster – the very man who'd not seen fit to expel the persons responsible for almost murdering me as a teenager – that I had failed to save my best friend."

Harry swallowed hard, nearly burning his throat on hot coffee.

"Only happy memories now, I hope," Harry said, not making eye contact with Snape.

"Partially. You were an irritating student."

Harry laughed, relaxing back against his half of the chesterfield.

"I'm sure some of your Slytherins were just as bad."

"Ah yes," Snape considered, glancing up at the wooden beams across the ceiling. "Such as Vincent Crabbe, the boy so dim he set his own wand alight."

And the entire freaking room with it," Harry muttered.

"Effective, at the very least," Snape conceded.

Harry smiled and watched the candles flicker. Coffee had been brewed, the strong smell filling the living room and mixing well with the scent of rain through the slightly opened windows. Power still hadn't been restored, and the cards sat abandoned on the coffee table between two pedestal candle holders.

"In the shack, you never told Voldemort that it was Draco who over powered the wand. Not even when you knew he was going to kill you," Harry said, with practised offhandedness.

"One day, Mr Potter, you shall learn that it is a bad idea to interrupt a theorizing maniac," Snape calmly replied, blowing cooler air across the top of his mug.

"Stop calling me Mr Potter. And that's not it; anyone would have blamed someone else to save their own life. But you didn't. Because you're Dumbledore's man through and through, just like me."

"A grave oversimplification," Snape grumped.

"But a true one," Harry said, his green eyes dark and focused on Snape. Snape's fingers were flexing around his coffee cup, as if he was letting the heat massage his muscles.

"How were you going to tell me to sacrifice myself? You didn't know I was in the shack."

Harry drew his feet up under him on the couch, almost spilling a spot of coffee on his sock.

"Ghosts, Harry, as you should have learned in your six years of magical education, are not only transparent. They are able to convey messages," Snape said, his tone derisive. Harry had finally realised that that tone of voice mostly implied that Snape was uncomfortable with the line of conversation.

"But if you're a ghost, you don't get to move on afterward. You have to make the one choice."

Snape turned away, calmly sipping his coffee in the perfect picture of nonchalance. Sitting in Harry's living room, his arm perched on the arm of the couch and his feet propped up on an ottoman.

"You were going to give that up," Harry blurted, putting his own mug down. "You were going to give up your once chance in the afterlife to make sure I succeeded."

Snape continued to sip his coffee, and his eyes focused on something out on the street.

"I made a promise to the memory of my best friend," Snape answered, his voice low and without any of the scorn, disdain, or sarcasm it usually carried. "Loyalty is not solely a trait of Gryffindor house."

Harry swallowed, a lump forming at the base of his throat. Loyalty. One of the most major things he longed for in a partner; someone who wouldn't leave him. Harry had no desire for different companions on a whim. He'd gone without a family long enough, and he wanted someone who was there for the long run, someone who he could always count on.

"No," Harry agreed, lifting his mug and taking a drink to disguise any breaking of his voice. "Bravery isn't either."

"Hmm," Snape said, still looking outside and not confirming anything. For as much as Snape had mercilessly informed Harry of all the Marauder's doings, he'd never boasted about his own hellish accomplishments in the war.

"I had my own reasons, Harry," Snape finally said. The candle burning on a pedestal beside Snape sparked a little, illuminated Snape's shoulders and the fading pale pink scars on his neck from Nagini's bite. His left arm, which was uncovered and supporting the coffee mug, was still a strong shade of coral pink over the newly formed skin. "Nothing I have done in the past twenty years has been without careful consideration."

Harry nodded at that, knowing how much stress that sort of life had caused him in the war years, and unable to imagine what it must have been like for half of Snape's life.

"I want - I want to propose a deal," Harry said, gathering his courage and making eye contact with Snape.

"I know you said I'm one of your types. Would you ever consider a, well, a companionship of mutual advantage?"

Snape stared back, his face relaxed as he seemed to be interpreting Harry's body language.

"It would be prudent to explain further, if you don't wish to be hexed," Snape finally said. "There have been many 'companionships of mutual advantage' on offer in the past twenty years that, that were rather not what they seemed."

Realising what his choice of words sounded like, Harry hastily started to explain.

"I think that as people, you and I are both looking for something. I want a family, and security, and a few other things. You," Harry paused, checking to see that Snape's mood still seemed to be neutral.

"You want someone that appreciates your hard work, and who will be just as loyal to you as you are to them," Harry finished boldly, tapping his palm silently against his thigh. Snape's temper had calmed a lot since coming to live with Harry and Theo, but that didn't mean that he would be open to blunt interpretations of his personality traits.

When Snape didn't say anything, but continued to stare, Harry finished his thought.

"I think you're tired of surviving alone. And I think you want someone who knows exactly who you are, and doesn't fault you for it."

Harry took a drink, rubbing his sweaty palm against his jeans at the side of his thigh.

"So speaks the one man who knows more of my past motives than any other person alive," Snape commented, though he sounded slightly amused. It threw Harry off guard.

"Yes," Harry agreed.

"That is assuming that I do not wish to enjoy the solitude that I have earned," Snape said, his voice still calm enough that Harry had trouble telling if Snape was reprimanding him slightly or not.

"If you did," Harry started, taking a chance; "you likely wouldn't be sitting downstairs with me in the evening, having a chat after playing cards."

The gamble paid off. Harry was rewarded with a slight smirk, the very look he'd only seen Snape give his Slytherin students when they'd mastered a potion.

"This would be a standard companionship, I assume? Living together in one house, sharing expenses?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry said. He lifted his wand in consideration, as if to summon the coffee pot to pour himself more, but reconsidered. "I understand that, er, sex would also be a part of the arrangement."

At Snape's raised eyebrow, Harry quickly added, "Twice a week, maximum."

Snape looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"And what do you expect in return for such a taxing sacrifice?"

Fortunately, Harry had anticipated that Snape would insist on things being equal, and had an answer ready.

"I want real occlumency lessons. They'll be helpful with my job, and I want a real chance to learn it."

Snape shrugged and then nodded.

"I don't need an answer right now," Harry said, wanting to reassure Snape that this wasn't a stupid idea. "But I thought, perhaps we could try it for three days, and then decide."

"Forethought," Snape said, shifting on the chesterfield and switching the way his feet crossed at his ankles. "What an unusual habit for a Gryffindor."

"I've been living with a Slytherin for three weeks," Harry immediately answered back. "That, and the twins think it'd be hilarious if Theo ended up in Slytherin, so they've been trying to train him.

"A noble quest, if there ever was one," Snape returned, smiling into his coffee.

….

Snape's feet stepped slowly onto the worn wooden treads of the stairs, making his way up to the third floor in the dark. He could have lit his wand for guidance, but it had taken Snape many years to cultivate the skill of walking the castle without light, and thus Potter's house was much less of a challenge.

Harry's house.

He opened the door to his bedroom and slipped inside, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked around the room to the window. The curtains were drawn, as Snape quite enjoyed the morning sunlight as an alarm, and tonight thy afforded an interesting view of Harry's lightless neighbourhood. Snape lit the room with a few candles, their still light providing far more usefulness in the storm than that of the neighbour across the garden's single torchlight beam.

The shirt was checked for stains and tears before being thrown into the laundry hamper. His trousers were draped over a chair, for use early in the morning before dressed in his regular clothes. Snape stood in front of a full-length mirror that the house elf had installed, looking himself over.

His arms were the most muscular on him, from years of potion brewing, and though not muscular, his stomach was rather flat from a high metabolism likely helped along by stress. His legs, covered in a light smattering of dark hair, had the appropriate muscle of one accustomed to duelling. Snape held his left arm down for inspection, candlelight much more forgiving than daylight. The mark was gone, but a discoloured patch of mostly smooth skin still announced that something had been there.

Sliding onto his bed in just his pants, Snape stretched out on his stomach and twisted his hips slightly, enjoying the feel of his clothed cock against the blankets on the bed. So Harry had masturbated the night before, Snape thought with a languid smirk. It had been written all over the boy's face in the morning before the park fiasco. Snape was pleased that while Harry wasn't attracted to him in the least, Harry liked him and wanted him to stay at the house; even suggesting a pseudo-relationship to keep Snape there.

And wasn't that a pleasant idea, Snape thought, rolling over and running the heel of his palm down his front. Severus Snape had never been the type of man to receive many offers - indeed the celebratory frottage against a wall he'd enjoyed after his case hearing had been more the result of alcohol more than any of Snape's charms. Potter though – no, Harry – was quite good looking and innocent. Snape began stroking himself in earnest, pulling the band of his pants down and closing his eyes.

He should feel guilty, Snape considered, his toes curling as he hit a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his penis. Lusting after a former student was likely frowned upon by nearly everyone, but Snape had never seen Harry as anything but an irritating little twerp when the boy was a student, and looked upon him almost like he was a new person entirely now.

Reaching down beside his bed, Snape slipped open floorboard he'd pried up his very first night at the house. He could find it without opening his eyes; the floorboard being in the same spot as the one in his Hogwarts chambers, and his childhood bedroom at Spinner's End.

Snape removed his personal glass jar of lubricant, drizzling some on himself as he imagined teaching Harry the more pleasing acts of sex. He wasn't kidding himself, and hadn't lied about Harry being his type. No, Harry offered, Snape thought, arching his back slightly as his hand moved faster, and Snape would definitely take him up on the three-day trial.

An image of Harry flashed in his mind, lain out on Snape's bed and slightly skittish with first time nervousness. And Snape approaching, knowing exactly what sort of touch would excite him into arousal.

A door opened downstairs and Harry's voice carried up the stairwell as he hummed to himself. Snape grunted softly as he came with an intensity that caused his toes to cramp as they curled.

Snape relaxed back in bed, murmuring the personal cleaning charm all boys learn in the Hogwarts dorms, and shaking his head at the situation. It was mad, and he should have immediately felt the urge to leave the house upon the first utterance of such an arrangement. But Snape was nearly forty, and the thought of starting completely anew with a potential suitor and having to explain his past was not a pleasant one. Not when there was an admittedly good looking almost twenty year old who not only was not completely opposed to the idea of having sex with him, but also tolerated his personality.

Snape flexed his toes and worked the cramps out of them, not for the first time in his life coming to the conclusion that whomever was in charge of cosmic karma had a sense of humour akin to Albus Dumbledore's.

…

The man waited calmly for the lift, adjusting his Ministry ID badge. It was early Monday morning, and the cleaning staff were just coming off shift as they bustled about the nearly empty Ministry. The man didn't much care about the cleaning staff, however, as he had a few things on his to-do list and they were slightly time-sensitive. He had a small anonymous tip to give to the Auror department, some information to retrieve from a judge's office, and later, Crouch to dispose of.

A shorter Floo technician wizard joined the man in the lift, his dark blue uniform spotted slightly with green Floo powder and layers of ash upon his shoulders. He had a cap that had likely once matched the uniform, and a faraway look in his eyes that spoke of poor vision and no spectacles.

As much as he hated to interact with potential witnesses while out on errands, the man turned to the Floo technician wizard and attempted nonchalance.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Judge Botsnair's office is, would you?"

"I don't expect the judge will be in right yet," the wizard said, answering a different question.

"I am a patient man," the man replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"Suit yourself," the technician wizard answered, obviously not bothered by someone willing to wait in a hall for an hour. "St Mungo's representatives will be in today; you may find her time short."

"Ah, yes. Regarding Severus Snape?" the man asked, feigning only slight interest.

"Think so," the technician wizard answered. The lift came to a jarring stop and the wizard made to exit. "That Wolfsbane is a popular brew right now."

"That it is," the man murmured.

…

Harry sat at the kitchen table on Monday morning, bouncing Theo on his knee as they shot at the white board with a toy suction dart gun. The board was filled with names of wizards and witches that were even the remotest bit connected to counterfeiting: Harry, Fudge, Ludo Bagman, or Crouch; and random theories scribbled by Ron and Hermione.

"Was Fudge at one of the hearings for Barty Crouch Jr?" Hermione asked, tapping her upper lip with the capped end of the whiteboard marker.

"Bang!" Theo cheered, shooting the gun and hitting the window behind the whiteboard.

"Not that I remember," Harry replied, shaking his head. "But the memory was packed with people, and it flashed by really fast."

Theo held up his hand impatiently, wanting the dart back, and huffed.

"Mine."

The dart slowly wavered its way over, falling to the table beside Theo, who happily grabbed it up.

"Theo! Good for you!" Harry exclaimed, clapping his hands around Theo and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"There you go, Harry," Ron said, grinning as he reached for a cinnamon roll from the table plate. "You needn't worry about this mad bloke now."

Harry watched Theo try to put the suction dart back into the dart gun backwards.

"Well, he's almost there."

Harry loaded the toy gun for Theo again and this time the shot was a bit better, with Harry's help. There was movement behind the target that caught Theo's attention, and he crowed as an owl came into view. The owl circled the back garden for a moment, waiting as Harry's wards scanned for any dark objects, and then landed on a deck chair outside the glass eating area.

"Hooo hooo," Theo said, pointing at the owl. Ron retrieved the letter, noting that it was addressed to Snape.

"Do you open his mail?" Ron asked, inspecting the sealed envelope.

"No," Harry said, scoffing. "That's a bit rude, isn't it?"

"It's Snape, Harry," Ron reminded him, tossing the letter on the counter. At the whiteboard, Hermione was drawing a logic puzzle grid.

"Yeah, well, we're getting on a bit better now," Harry admitted, letting Theo down. He toddled over to the window and banged on it, yelling in gibberish at the owl.

"Are you now?" Ron asked, his voice thick with a teasing tone. "He's not still trying to irritate the shit out of you, in a caring way?"

"Sit!" Theo said, grinning at Ron.

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed. Harry just waved his hand at her and asked Theo to point out the owl again.

"Don't make a bit deal about the word. If you do, he'll just keep repeating it."

Ron looked slightly apologetic, but was still rather amused with teasing Harry.

"Hermione, did you ever notice that even after all those years of keeping Harry safe, that Snape still likes to take the piss out of him?"

"What does that have to do with this counterfeiter, Ron?" Hermione asked, drawing a new name on the board. Igor Karkaroff was supposedly dead, but as far as the three of them could remember, his body had never been found.

"Not a bloody thing," Ron answered, watching Harry try to control his blush. "But Snape likes to hurt the people he likes, right?"

"Mmm," Hermione said, holding up the notes that Harry had sketched out about the park attack.

"Snape must really like Harry then," Ron finished, ducking to avoid the Danish chunk that Harry threw at him.

"Are you done, Won-Won?" Harry asked, leaning over to catch Theo.

"Daddy, baa-baa," Theo said, holding his hands out expectantly. Theo's ball was likely upstairs in his room, but Harry searched his pockets for something to transfigure into one. Dumping a few coins onto the table, Harry turned a bottle cap into a small blue bouncy ball and gave it to Theo.

"He does have a point, Harry," Hermione considered, smirking slightly at him.

"Always disbelieving," Ron grumbled.

"Do you like him back?"

"I'm asexual, Hermione," Harry reminded her, tapping the fake Dumbledore's Army galleon against the table top. Back when he was camping in hide out, endless hours of staring at the coin had first sparked Harry's interest in counterfeiting and coining.

"That just means you're not sexually attracted to him," Hermione shrugged, turning back to the whiteboard.

"He's…surprisingly tolerable to have in the house. Most of the time. And he's good at conversation," Harry said, aiming for nonchalance. It was rather hard with Ron making love-dove faces at him.

"Sounds like you like having him here," Hermione said, after considering for a moment. "And you do have some sort of live bond, must have, after all these years."

"Well, not an official life debt, or anything," Harry said, taking the toy car that Theo had shoved at him.

"Thank Merlin for that," Ron said.

Snape came into the kitchen just seconds later, immediately heading for the kettle to make tea. He seemed not to care that there was an uncomfortable silence in the room, and didn't bother to greet either Ron or Hermione.

"Message for you," Harry said, floating the owl's note over. Snape avoided Theo's staggering walk about the kitchen and opened the note as he waited for the kettle to boil.

"Good news?" Harry asked, not turning his head to look at Snape.

"Perhaps," Snape replied, tucking the note back into his pocket. "A prospective client for Wolfsbane potion."

Before Harry could say anything else, the phone in his study rang.

"Hello?" Theo asked, stopping in the middle of the kitchen and holding up his hand like a telephone receiver.

"S'cuse me," Harry pardoned, ruffling Theo's hair with his fingers as he walked toward the study.

Snape made his tea silently while Ron and Hermione continued to stare at the suspect list. The weather outside was actually co-operating, and sun was even peeking through some spots in the clouds. Power had been restored sometime around four in the morning.

"Strike Igor Karkaroff from your list," Snape said, glancing at it as he went for the milk.

"Oh," Hermione said, picking up the marker. "There were only rumours that he'd been hit with the killing curse, so we thought he should be considered."

"Dismembered, actually," Snape casually corrected, stirring the sugar into his tea. "However, the end result is still the same."

Harry came back into the kitchen to see Ron looking slightly queasy, Hermione flustered at the whiteboard, and Theo talking to Snape about his toy monkey.

"I've got another assignment," Harry announced, pulling Theo's toy riding car over to the table. "The Bank of England received twenty-five thousand pounds this morning in a foreign exchange, and they want me to do a rush inspection."

"If it's from that wizard again, Fudge will probably be cleared," Ron said, standing up to brew a pot of tea for all of them.

Theo happily climbed on the push car, and giggled as Harry slowly pushed him around the kitchen table.

"It most likely is. The exchange account is from William Chaloner," Harry answered, cutting close to where Snape was leaning against the counter. Theo reached out and smacked Snape's leg as they passed.

"Tag, Sape!"

"Chaloner?" Hermione asked, a puzzled look on her face. "I don't remember any wizards with that name."

"You wouldn't, Miss Granger," Snape smugly said. "William Chaloner was a very prominent and skilled coiner in the late 1600's."

Harry paused the push car by the toddler table, looking up at Snape and his friends.

"It's also the code name for an account used by the Gringotts bank when they exchange pounds to galleons."

"Blimey, Harry," Ron exhaled. "That's a lot of money."

"Five thousand galleons," Hermione said, doing the math quickly in her head.

"Is there anything in the notes that could lead you to the perpetrator?" Snape asked, holding up one of the £20 notes from the table and not noticing a difference between it and one of the fakes.

"Unfortunately not," Harry said, pushing Theo around the kitchen on the push car again.  
"Ink is something we're never short on in the wizarding world."

"What about the holopound thing?" Ron asked. He'd started playing tic tac toe with himself on the board while he waited for the kettle to re-boil.

"Duplicated by magic, and wrong," Hermione dismissed.

"What she said," Harry huffed, racing faster and grinning at Theo's giggles.

"What is this thread inside the note?" Snape asked, peering at it as if it were an off-colour potion.

"Off! Off, Daddy!"

Harry stopped pushing, letting Theo off the car so he could run around the table with it himself.

"That's actually metal," Harry corrected, straightening up. "A tiny metal thread that's run into every note."

"And purchasable at any shop, no doubt," Snape muttered sarcastically.

"Sape! Arooom haapt big up car," Theo said, stopping at Snape's side and staring at Snape with imploring eyes.

"A little clearer, Mr Potter. Your father progressed past grunting, and so shall you," Snape deadpanned, causing Theo to laugh.

"Harry, could you buy this metal thread in Diagon Alley?" Hermione asked, writing 'metal thread' on the white board.

"I think there's a shop near Knockturn?" Harry paced beside the table, his arm swinging up and down slowly as he tried to think of something.

"I was out shopping a few weeks ago, bumped into someone who had a bag of those wires in his hand. So yeah, I guess you can buy them there."

"Harry, you could have run into the counterfeiter!" Hermione admonished, countering Harry's nonchalance.

"It would be helpful to have a name, Potter," Snape sarcastically commented, ignoring the dirty looks from Harry and Hermione.

"He can't remember," Ron grinned, watching Harry's face as Harry searched his memories.

"Bollocks," Harry finally said. "It'll come to me."

….

Snape responded to the client's letter later that morning, taking his time to ensure his loopy and spidery script –usually only legible to himself and certain readers of his purloined potions text – was neat and orderly on the missive. He wrote a time in which they could meet at a small cafe near the house. Snape had only a very brief passing thought about setting up an office in the cellar that clients could Floo in, but he hated the idea of allowing clients, people in general really, anywhere near the sanctuary of his home. Harry's home, at the moment, but Snape's by extension.

Harry had nipped out to New Scotland Yard for a few hours, leaving him alone with Theodore. Weasley and Granger had left much earlier, citing some sort of prior commitment at the Burrow. Theo was sitting at the toddler table next to Snape's chair, playing with some monkey action figures that Snape had animated.

He managed to almost fully balance his bank accounts before being interrupted, and was pleased that out of the £3500 insurance money, he still had nearly £2000 left.

"Sape," Theo interrupted again, holding up his arms and pouting. Snape didn't have much experience with small children, any experience actually, but figured Theo wanted changed and to take a nap in his own cot. Snape summoned a bottle of milk from the fridge and picked up the boy. Ensuring to carry him properly, Snape let a wry smile fall on his face as Theo moulded against him and grew his hair longer to match Snape's.

Thankfully, the muggle nappy package that Harry had in the baby's room had instructions on it, and Theo was changed in short order. Not trusting the child to not fall asleep with a bottle in his mouth, Snape sat with the baby in the rocking chair and hummed the only nursery rhyme he could remember his mother singing to him. Snape hadn't any talent for singing, but he was fairly confident that Harry would never find out about the nursery rhyme.

_Hush little serpent, don't make a sound_

_Papa's going to build you a nest in the ground._

_Sleep little serpent, curled up all tight._

_Papa's going to keep you safe through the night._

_Dream little serpent, tomorrow's almost here._

_Don't worry my serpent, Papa will be here._

As Theo fell asleep, Snape noted with satisfaction that the little one smelled like baby powder, cotton, and cleanliness, not of musky, damp earth. Around them, monkeys on the wallpaper of Theo's room jumped lazily around the cartoon trees, and Snape felt rather calmed to be sitting in the room. A relationship with Harry Potter, whether it be a sexual one or not, would always come with Theodore. And Snape suspected that Theodore would come first to Harry for a long time. Snape looked down at the sleeping baby, small dark lashes hiding the damning green eyes shared by Lily and Harry. Theo had a chubby face, but a well-defined small little nose and a stubborn chin. He would likely grow up to be a good-looking boy, and seemed to be reasonably intelligent as well.

And he seemed to like Snape at the moment. Perhaps starting when the child was too young to form any prejudice about Slytherins was the key to acceptance.

But before considering how he'd fit Theo into his daily routine, he'd first have to see if Harry would rise to the challenge, so to speak. Raising himself out of the chair, Snape carefully placed Theo in the cot and pulled the blanket over top. Theo curled up onto his side immediately and, satisfied, Snape flicked on a nightlight and left the room.

….

The man sat in the waiting area of the Auror Division, waiting on some paperwork he had purposefully misrouted through their office. His lotto winnings were in a charmed bag in his pocket, and his suit had been recently pressed and cleaned. Clean-shaven, the man looked to those who knew him that he'd finally picked himself back up out of depression.

A door opened to the left and shouting broke through it, startling the reception witch. The man watched with hidden satisfaction as Ludo Bagman was forced through the door, his arms magically bound as he twisted and turned to get out of the Auror's grasp.

"Once wasn't enough for yeh, eh?" a gruff Auror with an impressive scar along his forehead asked. "Set up Fudge to take your fall, n' piss off the goblins again."

He shoved Ludo forward, toward another door along the hallway that led to the interrogation rooms. As they passed further away from the man, all he could hear was Ludo's wheedling voice trying to convince the Aurors that this time he was innocent.

"Mr Diggory?" the reception witch called, interrupting his moment of silent vigilante justice. "I'm sorry sir, but it doesn't seem like we have your form here. Perhaps it got stuck in the post room."

Amos Diggory stood slowly and offered a kind smile to the reception witch.

"Thank you for searching."

As Amos left the main offices of the Ministry and passed the Floos, he tossed a small scrap of paper into the green fire, one small little scrap summoned silently from the Auror department that contained the secluded address of one Ludo Bagman.

…

Harry arrived back home in time for dinner, pleasantly surprised at the smell of pork roast that filled the kitchen. He placed the _Evening Prophet_ on the kitchen table and smiled broadly at Snape, who was standing in front of a chopping board and holding Theo.

"Potatoes are part of the nightshade family," Snape said, speaking to Theo. Theo nodded seriously, and watched with intense focus as Snape cut the raw potatoes into perfectly even slices.

"How do you get the potato to stay still, Severus?" Harry asked, impressed at Severus' concentration.

"Are you or are you not a wizard, Mr Potter?"

Harry snorted, and moved closer to give Theo a kiss hello. He hesitated for a moment, before placing his hand on Snape's back, just below Snape's shoulders.

"It smells delicious, Severus."

"I would hardly be a potions master if it didn't," Snape lightly said, his way of accepting the compliment. He'd stiffened slightly with the touch, but he'd relaxed back almost instantly against Harry's hand. "Can you take him?"

Theo slipped easily into Harry's arms, and Harry returned to the table to fetch the _Prophet._

"Fresh off the press," Harry announced, floating the paper up closer to Snape. The front page had a picture of Ludo Bagman, flustered and trying to hide his face from the camera as he was escorted into the Ministry of Magic by Aurors.

"Hmm," Snape hummed, glancing at the article. "Twenty-five thousand counterfeited pounds?"

"Yeah," Harry said, twirling around the kitchen with Theo in his arms. "And the goblins are absolutely pissed."

"Naturally," Snape commented. He covered the boiling potato chunks with a pot lid and leaned against the counter, watching Harry hold Theo up in the air like he was flying on a broom.

"Ludo Bagman wasn't exactly on the best of terms with the goblins five years ago. And they don't usually forget people. So either he's stupid enough to cross them again, or someone really wants to make his life difficult."

…

Just before seven, Snape approached the office and knocked on the doorframe. As Harry knew he was there, Snape entered the room and stood directly behind Harry, at the fireplace.

"I have a meeting with a client," Snape said, speaking in a low voice near Harry's ear. He noticed that Harry immediately tensed, as if he wasn't sure how to react with Snape standing so closely behind him.

"Hug!" Theo cheered, smacking Harry's chair with his palm and narrowly avoiding hitting the toy monkeys climbing all over it.

"Er, okay," Harry said, swallowing audibly, but not turning to look at Snape.

Snape ghosted his finger along the back of Harry's neck, tracing it around to the underside of Harry's chin. The burn scar from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault was very faded, and the touch seemed to cause a shiver through Harry's body.

"I shall return," Snape finished, standing back and heading for the door. He might only have three days for their deal's trial, but he wasn't stupid enough to risk pushing too far all at once.

"Right," Harry said, looking put together and less nervous. "This is a client from the hospital?"

Theo waved goodbye to Snape, holding his hand out for a shake. Snape shook it as he walked by, and turned to answer Harry.

"No. A private client, by the name of Amos."


	8. Chapter 8

  
Snape was sure to wear muggle clothes as he readied to meet with his client. They were meeting in a cafe south of the house, in a muggle neighbourhood, and Snape much preferred to blend in with his surroundings. A simple pair of black trousers and a dark grey dress shirt would do, with a very light rainproof traveling cloak that would allow him to be old-fashionably eccentric rather than crazy. As a last thought, Snape packed two samples of freshly brewed Wolfsbane, along with a two-page information sheet he'd drawn up earlier that morning.

Snape sat with his back against the wall of the cafe, where he could see everyone entering and leaving the cafe. He'd arrived early enough to prepare himself, and silently thanked the headmaster for forcing him as a young professor to do all the bartering and ordering of the school's supplies. He'd gotten quite proficient at it, and as a supplier now, Snape saw no reason to stop negotiating for prices in his favour. Across the cafe the door opened, the low murmur of chatter interrupted by the loud laugh of a woman thrown into the cafe by the wind. Snape wasn't interested in her, but rather the man who entered silently behind. He had salt and pepper coloured hair, a small pot-belly, and walked with the unsure gait of a wizard amongst muggles.

"Mr Snape?" the man asked, approaching the table and glancing his hip against a chair. He didn't seem to notice, though, which Snape found peculiar.

"Perhaps. You are?"

"Amos," came the gruff answer. Amos almost fell into the chair, scattering a serviette from the table and failing to catch it as it fell.

"Tell me about your Wolfsbane," Amos said, seemingly catching the train of thought out of nowhere.

"Werewolves take it," Snape deadpanned. Leaning closer, he made eye contact with Amos' slightly unfocused eyes. "Are you a werewolf, Amos?"

"Aren't we all?" Amos asked, without a smile or laugh to distinguish the joke.

"You have something on your sleeve," Snape said, narrowing his eyes. With a surprisingly fast move, a skill of experimental potioneers, Snape snatched the metallic thread off Amos's sleeve and held it up to the dingy cafe's lights.

"Finite incantatem," Snape growled, slashing his sleeved wand toward Amos. Ashley Creevey slumped to the table out of the imperius curse, as Snape disillusioned himself and apparated out of the cafe.

….

Snape landed silently in the kitchen, righting the wavering bowl of fruit by instinct as his hip hit the table.

"Why is the damned table not excluded from the apparating parameters," Snape grumbled, clutching his side. He looked up and listened, but could only hear the hum of the refrigerator. If that boy had gone out...A bright piece of parchment was stuck to the fridge, and Snape snatched it away with quick fingers.

"Gone to the shops, no milk delivered today and Theo won't settle."

"Stupid boy!" Snape exhaled, crumpling the note in his . "Stupid stupid boy!" Snape whirled around to stomp into the office, looking for a flyer that might tell him which grocer Harry went to.

…..

Harry, in muggle trousers, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and with shockingly red hair, pushed Theo in his small pram as they entered the grocers. Theo, who was dressed in his pyjamas, had mimicked Harry's hair change and allowed Harry to spike it. He'd also had the charm put on him that prevented him from changing his hair back.

"We need milk for Theo and Daddy, some fruit, and maybe some carrots," Harry said, speaking cheerfully to his sleepy son. "What do you think Severus might like?"

Theo clapped a few times as they approached the doors, staring expectantly as they opened automatically. "Papa Sape."

"Papa Snape?" Harry asked, steering toward the vegetables. "What's he been telling you, then?"

"Heeeeeeee," Theo hummed.

Harry manoeuvered the pram around the shop, ignoring the glances from older people who were stopping to look at Theo in the pram. When Harry had first taken Theo out as a tiny baby, he'd been very frustrated at the amount of people who were nervy enough to stop them and coo at Theo.

"Almost done, just need the milk," Harry said. Theo just kept humming, his eyes mostly closed as he tried to keep awake. Harry was just grateful that Theo had stayed mostly quiet, as he'd been throwing tantrums at home.

In no time Harry had paid for the merchandise, and was ready to apparate home. Theo had fallen asleep in the queue, almost dropping his toy monkey as his arms fell slack. That was fine with Harry though, as it was nearing eight in the evening and Theo was usually in bed already at this time.

Harry rounded the corner of the apparition point, stepping between two disillusioned trees that were on the far south side of the grocery lot. He checked quickly that Theo was still fast asleep in his pram and then placed a few unbreakable charms on the food containers. He'd not yet broken any in apparition, but figured it wasn't worth the risk. The grocery sacs hung from the pram handles, and Harry had cast a light sound proofing charm over the stroller to block out noise from bothering Theo. There were a group of rowdy teens who seemed to think that hanging out at a grocery store on a summer night was fun. Theo had been in a grumpy mood that evening, and Harry wanted to keep him asleep.

The pram's wheels made a wet sandy noise as they ran over the damp gravel on the pavement, louder than Harry liked when he was about to apparate. Glancing calmly around, Harry murmured a disillusion charm over Theo and the pram. It was less suspicious than waving an invisibility cloak around, and Harry had perfected his casting of the spell on desperate day in Diagon Alley when Theo was three months old. He was still being crowded as a war hero, and had desperately needed new clothes for Theo.

A twig broke to Harry's left and he slowed his movements, his body tensing as he attempted to discern the source of the noise. The rowdy teens were still around the corner at the front of the store, and the apparition point appeared empty.

"Avada-"

"Confringo!" Harry instinctively cast, whipping his wand in the direction o the voice. He hit a tree stump and watched it ricochet up toward an overweight and glumly looking man.

A crack sounded to Harry's left, and he only had a second's glance to see that it was Snape, and not an enemy.

"Prefoca!" The man growled, dodging a curse of Snape's.

"Stupefy!"

Harry's spell nearly hit the target, but the man's curse had grazed his shoulder and he dropped to his knees in front of Theo and the pram, gasping for air. Shadows shifted to his far left, but Harry couldn't focus on what they were.

"Morsmordre," Snape cast, his aim true as the hex hit the man. "Anapneo!" came a second later, and Harry felt the cool rush of fresh air in his throat again.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry coughed, casting over his shoulder and hitting Barty Crouch with it. Crouch had been hiding behind a rubbish tip and had only risen when Snape appeared. A low moaning noise sounded from the ground where the man was, which Harry ignored in favour of checking on Theo and rubbing his own throat. Still soundly asleep, the little boy was sucking on two fingers and appeared to have heard nothing.

"I thought that spell cast the skull in the sky," Harry said, watching Snape stand over the very ill looking man. Thin wires had been conjured, and used to keep the man's legs planted to the ground.

"It's hardly recommended to cast on oneself," Snape idly commented, watching nonchalantly as the man vomited. "Morsmordre is also the curse used to place the dark mark tattoo."

Harry looked up, his eyes slightly widened in alarm.

"You gave him the mark?" he asked, slightly incredulous.

"Don't be stupid," Snape huffed, snatching the man's wand from where it had fallen on the ground. "Like all dark magic, it requires specific intent."

"Figures," Harry said, standing up and dusting off the knees of his trousers. "Who is he then? And how'd you know to come here?"

"Your milkman was my client," Snape said, as calmly as if he'd only just dropped a bag of groceries and not prevented a murder.

"Of course he was," Harry muttered, shaking his head. He stood protectively in front of the pram, itching to take Theo home and to the safety of the wards. He felt hot and jumpy, adrenaline coursing through his veins like in the final days in the war.

"Lumos," Snape cast, pointing his wand down at the man. The man's robes were dark and somewhat tatty, slightly tight around his large body. When he looked up, the man's face was clear shaven and clean, with slightly darkened eyes from a small amount of lost sleep.

"Amos Diggory," Snape sneered, moving his foot out of vomit range. Barty Crouch, without wand or clear directive, had simply chosen a piece of ground beside Diggory and sat down.

"Damned death eater," Diggory spat, black coloured spittle hanging from his mouth as he glared upward. "Picking off good young children, in the prime of their lives."

"Peter Pettigrew killed Cedric," Harry interrupted, his voice strong as he tried to make his point. "Not Severus Snape, and not I."

"No," Diggory said, on his hands and knees. "Because you're famous Harry Potter, the boy that doesn't die."

"How unoriginal," Snape dryly replied. He was twirling his wand in his fingers, as if considering whether to curse Diggory further.

"You freak," Diggory continued, sicking up another round of black bile. Harry was rather disgusted, but Snape looked a bit amused. "Cedric should have lived. I love him far more than your mother _ever_ loved you."

Harry's eyes flashed with hurt and he stepped forward toward Diggory, unsure whether to hex or strike the man. Snape's hand caught his arm first, and stilled him from doing anything rash.

Harry remembered the braggart that Amos Diggory had been over Cedric winning at quidditch, and wasn't surprised that it had manifested into bitter hatred now that Cedric was gone.

"I think you'll have a nice night at the Ministry lock up," Harry said, flexing his fingers around his wand to calm down.

"Want to come with me, Potter?" Diggory asked, a twisted smile on his face. "Come see what us real wizards think of you."

Snape stepped forward, halting Harry's response.

"Let's go then, Diggory, it's been a while since we've had a little conversation," Snape mused, hauling Diggory roughly up by his collar. "Though I suppose you've been rather absent at the latest parent-teacher conferences."

Harry, Theo, and the pram all landed back in the kitchen safely and silently, keeping to the side of the kitchen to avoid hitting the table. Harry had just shaken his head to right himself when a wail sounded from the pram. Theo had been sleeping, but the apparition had woken him up and he didn't sound pleased about it at all.

"Alright, alright," Harry soothed, picking up the baby. "We're home, you can go back to sleep."

The groceries were put away with magic, something Harry didn't much like to do as they never ended up quite where they were supposed to. He paced up and down in the kitchen, humming to Theo, but nothing seemed to calm Theo down. Deciding that maybe Theo would be distracted with a fire call, Harry carried the fussy boy to the office.

"Let's talk to Aunt Minerva, eh monkey? We can tell her how you slept through another attempt on Daddy's life."

Fortunately, Minerva was still in her office and answered the call immediately. Harry was rather impressed that even though she gave most of her attention to Theo at first, she still managed to spot the scrapes on Harry's hand.

"Paintballing again, Harry? And where is Severus?"

"He's fine," Harry answered, pointing out a salamander in the coals for Theo to look at.

"We found out who has been behind the whole counterfeiting thing tonight. Amos Diggory tried to cast the killing curse at me."

Harry sat cross-legged in front of the fire, with Theo in his lap, and was messing with Theo's blue hair. He tried hard not to sound too bothered by what had happened.

He noticed that Minerva's lips pursed immediately, as if she was trying to rein in her first reaction.

"He was thwarted and taken into custody, I assume?" she asked, her gaze more inspecting now as she checked over both Theo and Harry.

"Of course he was. I'm still here, aren't I?" Harry grumbled back. He was starting to shiver slightly, as the reality of what had happened was starting to sink in.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhn," Theo pouted, pushing himself back against Harry's chest.

"It wouldn't be the first or second time you'd survived it," Minerva replied. She sounded cross, but Harry recognized the mothering mode she's slipped into.

"Now, Mr Grumpy can likely feel your adrenaline, and won't settle even though he's exhausted." She reached her hand out through the fire, grasping and shaking Theo's foot slightly.

"Either give him a bath to calm him, or calm yourself down."

"Thanks Aunt Minerva," Harry smiled, sighing softly. He heard Snape apparate back to the kitchen, and moved to stand up. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"You will _visit_ me tomorrow, young man," Minerva corrected. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night Aunt Minerva," Harry responded.

"Good night, Theodore," Minerva said, her tone more a command than a greeting.

"Buh bye," Theo said, almost as an after thought.

Snape was poring over some paper work in his hand as Harry entered the kitchen, with a squirming Theo in his arms. Harry put him down, and Theo staggered off to fetch a toy from the toddler table.

"What's wrong with the boy?" Snape asked, dropping his outer cloak on one of the kitchen chair backs and looking closely at Theo. "Was he hurt?"

"He's been fussy all evening," Harry said, opening the fridge to prepare a bottle of warm milk. "Even before we went out."

"No no no no no," Theo said, trying to close the door of the fridge.

"No bottle?" Harry asked, looking down at the serious expression on Theo's face.

"No!"

"He was asleep at the shop, wasn't he?" Snape asked. He removed Harry's crumpled note from his pocket and stuck it back up on the fridge. "And ten points from Gryffindor for failing to state which shop you went to."

"Twenty points to Slytherin for helping me," Harry countered. "The apparition woke him. I think I'll take him for a bath and try to make him sleepy again."

On the other side of the kitchen, Theo had started throwing his toys into the playpen.

"A wise idea," Snape concluded. "We shall discuss Amos Diggory after the little terror goes to bed."

…

Reaching the bathroom however, Harry decided that a shower might just be quicker for both of them. He wanted to warm Theo up and relax Theo's body, a trick that usually made the little guy pass right out. Theo pawed through the washroom soap supply while Harry stripped, but settled again in Harry's arms as they stepped in the shower.

Amos Diggory, Harry thought, his hand running a washcloth lazily over Theo's back. He'd not seen Mr Diggory, save for a few chance encounters in Diagon Alley, since the tournament. Harry had gotten the impression, and Mr Diggory had said himself, that he didn't blame Harry for Cedric's death. But perhaps that had been a first reaction, and now that he realized Cedric was gone, he was looking for justice.

"No peeing on Daddy," Harry said, as Theo started to shift in his arms.

"No pee pee," Theo agreed sleepily. He had his fingers in his mouth and his eyes closed as the water massaged his back. Harry decided it was a good time to end the shower.

"Why do you think he did it?" Harry asked Theo, wrapping a towel around them both. "Why counterfeit the money, why win the lotto?"

Theo had no answer for him though, and didn't even fuss when a nappy was put on.

"He was at least very creative in getting revenge on Ludo and Fudge," Harry finished. Harry carried Theo over to the cot, and tucked him in with the blanket. Theo's sleepy time monkey was in the cot already, and it was quickly grabbed up into a hug.

"Good night, Monkey. Daddy loves you."

Harry figured Theo was already asleep by the time his kiss touched Theo's forehead.

Harry just about started down the stairs to find Snape when he noticed his bedroom light on. Fairly certain it had been turned off before they'd gone for the shower, Harry pushed the door open to find a tray of steaming mugs on the night table. Snape was sitting casually on Harry's bed, inspecting one of Harry's muggle paperbacks. He was wearing a pair of old black lounge trousers that Harry had only seen once or twice early in the morning, or late in the evening like the night before.

"It's tripe," Harry said, entering the room and heading for his closet.

"I had suspected your taste in reading was rubbish," Snape answered, but he didn't put down the book.

"Percy's actually. Mrs Weasley cleaned out his room and he didn't want them," Harry called out, pulling a pair of boxer shorts on. His bathrobe was tossed onto a hook on the back of the closet door. "I've trouble falling asleep sometimes."

Harry walked back into the bedroom area, and flushed a little as he noticed Snape eying him appreciatively. This was part if the deal, though, and Harry kept his shoulders straight and up. He knew he didn't look too bad, Hermione had told him a few times, and he knew that the burn scars on his torso wouldn't bother Snape.

"Bellatrix's vault," Harry said, feeling the need to explain anyway. He grabbed a mug of tea and stood by his window, checking to ensure nothing was going on outside. He heard Snape move, heard the second tea mug scrape against the wooden tray, but still startled slightly when Snape stood directly behind him.

"Thank you. For being there tonight, for...always being there."

A strong hand, with calloused fingers, small pockmarks from over-boiling potions, and a slightly larger pinkie knuckle that looked to have been broken at some point, pressed against his stomach. The touch was warm, the fingers scraping lightly through the treasure trail on Harry's stomach, and he was gently pulled back against Snape's chest.

"You have an extraordinary talent for attracting the attention of the mentally unbalanced," Snape said, his voice deep and strong as it rumbled through Harry. Smiling, and biting his lip to not laugh, Harry dropped his head back onto Snape's shoulder.

"Maybe the lightning bolt is like an antenna," Harry offered. He took a sip of his tea and allowed himself to fully relax back against Snape, the feeling of Snape's strong presence behind him absolutely wonderful. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd felt most jealous about when watching his best friends together. Not the kissing part, they could keep that, but the comforting part.

"Do you think he'll end up in Azkaban?" Harry asked, placing his own hand atop Snape's. There was not much different between the sizes, and Harry was pleased to find holding hands comfortable.

"Undoubtedly," Snape murmured. They both watched out the window, where a teenager was walking home in the drizzle and stomping through the puddles. "Or St Mungo's under lock and key. We shall find out tomorrow, in any event."

"He seemed pretty lucid to me," Harry muttered, walking away from the window so the curtains could be drawn.

"Tell me how you really feel, Potter," Snape commented as he stretched out on Harry's bed. He'd picked the side closest to the door, the one Harry didn't habitually sleep on.

"He's a fucking nutcase, who knew exactly what he was doing when he planned revenge against anyone remotely involved in Cedric's death," Harry exhaled, sitting heavily on the bed with his back to Snape. "Meanwhile, I lost my parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks,...I'm just trying to get on with my life."

"From what I've heard, you gave a grandiose vigilante rant before killing the Dark Lord," Snape mused. He dropped his wand to the side table, as if preparing for bed in Harry's room.

"That doesn't count," Harry grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "The war's over. I want to just live my life now."

"There will always be murderous psychopaths," Snape reasoned, sitting up. "Neither you nor Theodore were harmed, your case is solved, and your house has had the wards improved."

"You're taking this remarkably calmly," Harry said, glancing to his side. The baby monitor crackled to life as Theo sneezed in his sleep, but no other sound followed.

"I have been hunted by various witches and wizards for nearly two decades," Snape shrugged, his voice low. "One either lives with it, or goes mad."

"Yeah?" Harry said, the edge of a smile on his face as he looked down at Snape stretched out on the bed. Snape's legs were crossed at the ankle, and his arms were propping up his head on the pillow. "I'll wager you could do mad well."

"I wager I can arouse you in under two minutes," Snape countered, nonchalantly changing the subject completely.

"Bollocks," Harry immediately replied, raising his eyebrow at Snape. He did a quick cock check and received the same answer he always did: 'meh.'

"Under two minutes," Snape replied, a gleam in his eye. "If I win, you must reciprocate before the trial is over."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "Do I need a safe word?"

Harry hated that his voice betrayed his slight nervousness, but Snape merely looked at him with unmaliced amusement.

"You have done research," Snape said, giving Harry a genuine tiny smile. "Well done."

"Err, seemed important for this kind of decision," Harry stammered. Snape's hands were running up and down Harry's chest, and it was slightly distracting.

Snape nodded, seeming to express his approval for more than just Harry's research.

"You will be perfectly safe," Snape said, his focus on touching Harry's chest. "But should you feel over stimulated, calling 'pause' will work."

Harry eyed Snape carefully, his eyes roaming over the pale and lightly haired chest with the slim stomach that was in front of him. Snape had thin strong arms, and his dark eyes seemed to glint in the light. He was a very interesting man to look at, but Harry had no particular desire to undress or intimately touch him.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, lying back on the bed as Snape pushed him down.

Instead of answering, Snape crawled over Harry so his leg was in between Harry's and his arms were at either side of Harry's shoulders. The feeling of being surrounded was a rather pleasant one, so Harry relaxed back into the mattress and let Snape kiss him. Unlike Cho, Snape's lips were thin and dry, nudging Harry's own to open in the slightest. The pressure wasn't forceful, but Harry still wasn't sold on the idea of kissing.

"One minute left," Harry whispered, closing his eyes as he felt Snape's hair on his neck. He felt Snape's smile on his neck as well, just seconds before Snape kissed under Harry's jaw.

"Oh, I..." Harry started, tipping his head back without realizing. Snape took advantage of this and Harry felt a wet tongue on his earlobe at the same time that Snape lowered his body more onto Harry's.

"Fuuuuck," Harry hissed, squirming under Snape's mouth. He vaguely became aware of a hard thigh he was pressed against, and was that...yes, that was Snape's penis.

"I won," Snape smirked, his features softer to Harry's unfocused gaze.

"You won," Harry agreed, panting slightly. "Now you get to deal with the messy thing."

Harry was unsure about the fine details of the actual physical act, but he'd usually gotten some form of tactile pleasure out of masturbating, so wasn't opposed to the idea. The hardest part, pardoning the pun, was getting himself aroused enough to enjoy the act. He'd never considered that another person's touch, and his complete focus on that, would do the job.

"Have you ever seen another man erect before?" Snape asked, sounding almost, but not quite, like his professor persona.

"In the dorms, I," Harry swallowed thickly as his boxers were pulled off and he tried not to squirm away in embarrassment. His cock bobbed and twitched slightly, but instead of looking at it with disgust, Snape had an intense focus in his eyes that Harry wasn't familiar with.

"In the tower I've seen Ron and Neville's. And Seamus used to use his knob as a towel rack."

"Hmm," Snape hummed appreciatively, sitting back on his heels. Harry was surprised to see a tent in Snape's lounge pants, as he thought the kisses were only meant to get him hard, not Snape.

"Should I assume then that you are completely untouched," Snape started, placing his hands under Harry's thighs and sliding down toward the bed, onto his forearms. "And have never experienced fellatio."

"People don't do that...holy god," Harry exhaled, his body tingling and twitching as Snape's warm and wet tongue did things that Harry was quite certain no condom and a hand could replicate.

...

Theo stirred around three in the morning, the wooden cot rails rattling a bit as he tried to pull himself up and out. Harry slipped out of bed, finding his boxers flung onto a wooden dressing chair in the corner of the room. He glanced back at the bed and smirked at Snape, who was sleeping in an undignified sprawl. Snape's fan of dark hair hid his face, a few strands which moved with each exhalation.

Theo was standing sleepily in his cot, holding his arms out to Harry as Harry came into the room.

"Stinky Daddy," Theo said, pointing to his bottom.

"You certainly are," Harry commented, lifting Theo out of the cot and scrunching his nose.

Theo held his stuffed monkey as Harry changed him, his eyes drooping and his hair slowly changing from brown to black to green.

"If you turn your hair green around Severus I'm sure he'll be quite pleased," Harry commented, smiling down at Theo.

"Sebivus," Theo yawned, hugging the monkey.

"Yes," Harry grinned, picking Theo up and snuggling him. "Sebivus Sape."

Theo only needed a few more minutes until he was fast asleep, and the Harry headed back toward his own bed. It had been an interesting night, to say the least. Amos Diggory had tried to kill him, the case was finally resolved and Snape had...did that count as making love? Harry had a vague recollection of Snape getting himself off as he sucked Harry, but Harry's orgasm had been intense and bits were rather spotty. Needless to say, if that was the kind of sex that Snape would want, Harry could see that part of the relationship being quite tolerable.

Snape hadn't moved. Harry sat down on his side on the bed, his eyes looking over the one long and lean leg that had escaped the covers, and the pale bare shoulder that half encroached onto his pillow. The problem was that Harry wasn't certain if he could reciprocate. Other than mere curiosity to see if Snape's skin was as soft as it looked, Harry had no other desire to touch him. He certainly wasn't aching to give Snape a blowjob, and was quite sure that unlike Snape, he'd not get hard from the giving part of the act.

Lying back down on the bed, Harry turned so that his back was against Snape's arm. He liked that touch, that small reminder that someone was there with him. Had Snape been the snuggly type though, or snored, Harry figured there would shortly be resentment between them for the sleeping arrangements.

...

Kingsley Shacklebolt arranged for a quick and private hearing later the next afternoon. Amos Diggory had been held overnight in the bowels of the Ministry, and Harry had been able to convince Ashley Creevey to come to the Ministry and testify. Theo was staying at the castle, where Aunt Minerva was having him help with supplies for first year classes.

"Are you going to redeem your lotto ticket?" Harry asked, keeping his head down as they walked quickly through the halls of the Ministry.

"I did last evening," Snape replied, sounding pleased. His stride was quick and purposeful as they weaved through the halls at the pit of the Ministry.

"Brilliant," Harry commented. He knew that fifty galleons was sufficient to purchase two sets of quality brewing clothing – he'd done some research – and had decided to treble what Snape bought as a thank you for all Snape had done for him during his Hogwarts years.

The courtroom Amos was being tried in was the exact same courtroom as Harry's trial had been in, the muggle trials, and from the look of disgust on Snape's face, the death eater trials as well. Had Harry not seen the rooms that the business grant applications were being heard, he would be convinced that there was only one courtroom in the entire Ministry.

Just before the hearing started, when Snape and Harry were already settled firmly in the witness seats, the door opened to admit Dennis and Ashley Creevey. Smiling at Harry, though not quite with the same brilliance as his brother used to, Dennis led his father over to sit with them.

"My apologies for yesterday, Mr Snape. First time under the zombie curse an' all," Ashley said, regarding Snape and offering his hand.

"Remarkably few witches and wizards are able to throw it off," Snape conceded, studying Ashley. He finally offered his own hand and they shook on a sort of truce.

"Suppose us muggles are even worse," Ashley replied, sitting down next to his son.

The circle in the centre of the room creaked, crumbling open as a cage rose up through the floor. Snape stiffened next to Harry, his eyes fixated more on the rattling cage than the scowling man in it. Unsure of what to say, Harry tentatively placed his hand on Snape's thigh and patted it.

Snape gave him a sideway glance, before nodding and relaxing.

"Amos Diggory," Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice called, startling Harry. He'd not seen Kingsley nor the other Ministry officials walk in. "You've been accused of counterfeiting muggle money, misuse of muggle artefacts, character abuse and harassment of Ludovic Bagman, Cornelius Fudge, and Bartimus Crouch Jr. Lastly is the more serious charge of attempted murder of Harry Potter, and endangerment of Theodore Potter and Severus Snape."

Amos merely smiled as each charge was read, as if he was satisfied with the list.

"How do you answer?"

"Disappointed," Amos said.

"Lord, this bloke's got the perfect insanity defence going," Ashley said, leaning in to watch the stenoquill record the transcript of the case.

"We don't have insanity defence," Harry said. "Not the way muggles do."

"Guilty or innocent, Mr Diggory," Kingsley clarified.

"Innocent. Potter's still alive," Amos said, throwing a nasty look in Harry's direction.

Snape planted a sneer on his face, identical to the various looks he'd given out over the Gryffindor potions classes Harry had been in, and stared right back.

"So you were explicitly targeting Harry Potter," Kingsley's strong voice boomed over the courtroom, causing nearly everyone but Amos to flinch. "Why?"

"Because he lived!" Amos asserted, his voice assertive but not quite yelling. "My boy died, and no matter what, Potter lives."

"He does that," Snape staged whispered, unimpressed with Diggory's outbursts.

"It's not right," Amos ranted, madness edging his hard eyes. "He should be..."

"Burned at the stake? It's almost like witchcraft, isn't it?" Snape interrupted, catching the attention of everyone in the court.

Harry lowered his head in his hands, fighting to stop the snort of laughter from bubbling up and out of his chest.

"Professor Snape," Kingsley admonished, looking down on them with thinly veiled amusement, "Please keep your comments for your turn."

Snape sat back in his seat, crossing his arms and letting a smirk settle on his face.

Ashley was called up first, however, and he explained to Kingsley and the Wizengamot how Amos had approached him with an offer to make money doing odd tasks. Amos had described it as the money Ashley should have received in compensation for Colin's death during the war, and had revealed to Ashley that he'd lost his own son as well.

The jobs had started out benignly, providing various samples of different muggle pound notes to Amos for study, and laundering the money through lotto shops once it had been produced. The surveillance of Harry and Theo had then started, which Ashley was able to accomplish inconspicuously as part of his milk delivery route.

Harry felt his face heat up at this, as he felt foolish for not realizing his home was being targeted. He slouched a bit in his chair, telling himself that Snape was at the house now and his protection was much stronger and well thought out than Harry's would ever have been.

Ashley left the stand soon after, and it was then Harry's turn. Amos Diggory had been placed under a silencing spell, and spent the entire duration of Harry's testimony attempting to curse him from the cage. It was rather unnerving, but Harry managed to focus his attention only on Kingsley and the Wizengamot as he explained was had specifically happened the night before. Break was called just after Harry finished explaining about the counterfeiting and how it had been used to frame Ludo Bagman.

…

They spent the break standing outside in the hallway, watching people shuffle by as they went upon their business at the Ministry. Snape was sitting, he'd some how conjured a rather comfortable looking chair from a scrap of parchment, and scribbling madly in a small notebook he'd brought. Harry watched Snape's hand fly across the page, his fingers reproducing the same elegant yet cramped writing that Harry was so very familiar with.

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" Harry blurted, making up his mind to ask Snape out to dinner.

Snape paused in his writing, his hair still shrouding his face as he continued to look at the notebook.

"None that involve heroic duelling," Snape replied.

"I meant for dinner, you prat," Harry replied immediately, resisting the urge to smack Snape on the shoulder like he'd normally do to Ron.

"Dinner," Snape repeated, sounding quietly pleased.

"Yeah, dinner. Plus, I think I owe you for…uh. Well, I'll try anyway," Harry said, scuffing his shoe along the black tile of the Ministry floor. He was a bit hesitant to do the actual act, but had a strong sense of fair play and was curious to see what the giving role was like.

"Indeed," Snape said, finally looking up. His lips were twisted up into a small smile. "I have yet to see you back down from a challenge."


	9. Chapter 9

  
_Professor Severus Snape,_

_Attic at the top of the stairs, Alwyne Street, London._

_Please find enclosed a list of potions that are required by Friday. Healer Harrison Tetchly will collect you from the administration entrance of St Mungo's at 9 am sharp Monday, and escort you to a private brewing lab at the hospital._

_All employment forms are to be completed and submitted at that time._

_Best regards,_

_Y. Braxtony,_

_Healer 1_ _st_ _Class_

_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries._

….

Dinner was not going to be out in Diagon Alley, Harry had decided. Diagon Alley was wondrous and cramped and packed full of people, and Harry wanted just a regular night out. Actually, what Harry was really craving was curry takeaway from down the street, but he'd offered to take Snape out and he didn't want to go back on his word.

"Well, there's a few fancy restaurants we can go to tonight. We can have steak, or go Italian, or...er, some place with fine wine?"

Snape was giving him a curious look, only partially paying attention as the judges at the front deliberated.

"Harry," Snape stated, in the exact same tone he used to command 'Mr Potter.' "A Tuesday evening with an almost-two year old?"

"Right," Harry said, tapping the wooden ledge in front of them with his knuckles. "There's great curry take-away down the road. We'll walk down with Theo, tire him out, get some beer and watch something stupid on the telly? I think it's shark week."

"Shark week," Snape deadpanned, voicing his scepticism. At the front of the room Kingsley banged a gavel on the table, ready to announce the panel's judgement.

"We have made a judgement based on evidence offered here today by the witnesses and the Ministry of Magic Aurors Division," Kingsley stated, his voice getting louder as he leaned forward to glare at Amos Diggory.

"As Minister of Magic, I pronounce you guilty of all charges and sentence you to eight years in Azkaban."

In the cage, Diggory barely flinched. He didn't lose the arrogant sneer on his face, which Harry had thought he might have once he realized that the lock up was real.

"I would order you to apologize to Mr Potter, Mr Bagman, and Mr Fudge, but I'm quite certain it wouldn't mean a thing."

Kingsley banged the gavel down on the desk, ending the case with a reverberating knock. The cage retreated back into the floor, stones around the hole crumbling as they skittered back into shape to cover the floor.

"Well, I hope I never have to be here again," Harry said with finality, standing up and following Snape out of the courtroom.

Two journalists were outside, one from the _Daily Prophet_ and one from _Witch Weekly_. Had they not been standing right outside the courtroom door, Harry and Snape would have easily slipped down to the witness apparition point in the Auror office. As it was, the journalists were hot on Harry's heels as they swiftly walked down the hall.

"Mr Potter! What was your role in the court case today?"

"Mr Potter, is it true that Amos Diggory tried to kill you?"

"Professor Snape? Is the job you're starting at St Mungo's part of a probation program?"

"No comment," Harry said, apparating with Snape out of the Ministry before Snape could hex the reporter.

…

The tiny little park down Canonbury Road was relatively empty as they detoured there, the lone occupants being two seniors out on a walk with their miniature dogs. Theo waved at them from the pram, keeping up his own stream of conversation over the one Harry and Snape was having regarding the hearing.

"I should let him out to walk around a bit," Harry mused, looking down at Theo. "Get him sleepier."

"Did you bring his leash?" Snape asked, sounding completely serious. He'd put on a thin dress jumper over his white dress shirt, and looked like a well-to-do business muggle.

"You know, that's not a bad idea sometimes," Harry grinned, letting Theo out.

Harry played a bit of catch with Theo as Snape sat and wrote more in his book, notes for how to improve some of the stock brews he anticipated St Mungo's needing. They'd gotten back to the house around three in the afternoon, and now that it was five, were stalling a little before fetching dinner.

"Do you think the eight years is fair?" Harry asked, rolling the ball back to where Theo was squatting.

"Ball!" Theo said, jumping up with it.

"In Azkaban, that will be plenty," Snape said. He spoke with the tone of a man who had first-hand experience, which made Harry wonder. From all the memories he'd seen, and from what the headmaster had told him, Snape hadn't been imprisoned as a young death eater.

"Severus? Were you there?"

"Ball!" Theo warned, lobbing the ball in Snape's direction. Snape caught it and rolled it past Theo, causing the toddler to chase after it.

"My mother served three years, for killing a muggle," Snape said, returning to his notes and effectively ending the questioning. Harry didn't need to ask which muggle Eileen Snape had killed.

...

Snape collected two large plates and two mugs in the kitchen, setting them and some bottles of Runespoor Red beer to float after him down the hall. He heard Theo whining as he approached the living room, and stopped just outside to take in the scene.

"Theodore Jonathan Potter, lay down and let Daddy change you," came Harry's frustrated but stern-sounding voice.

"No no no no no," Theo huffed, squirming to get out of Harry's grasp. He was lying on a changing pad on the floor, toys scattered about him and his trousers flung aside. Naked from the tummy down, Theo was wriggling loose from Harry's grasp, and oddly, was sporting what looked to be a monkey's tail. Neither the baby nor Harry noticed Snape standing in the doorway.

"Yes," Harry growled, reaching blindly for the baby powder.

"Baaaaad," Theo tried again.

Harry muttered something under his breath as Snape stepped forward into the room, directing the food and drinks to the coffee table.

"I believe petrificus totalus is taught in first year?" Snape offered, sounding mock helpful.

"You can't petrify a baby," Harry hissed, turning his head around to glare at Snape. Whatever he'd cast seemed to be working though, as Theo didn't seem to have much purchase to wriggle against the floor.

"And what was that?" Snape asked, crossing his arms.

On the floor, Theo flopped his arms and started to cry, his hair growing out to Snape's length.

"Daaaaddddyyy."

"Quicksand spell on the blanket. He's been grumpy since we got back from the walk," Harry said, finishing up and letting Theo crawl away.

Theo toddled over to Snape, standing beside him and doing a fair imitation of Snape's scowl as he looked at Harry.

"What exactly have you been teaching him?" Harry asked, standing up and dusting baby powder off his trousers. The changing pad and supplies wrapped themselves up neatly to be stored away.

"He's learning by superior example," Snape replied, holding his head up. Theo had lost interest though, and went to fetch his juice cup from the coffee table.

"Hmm. Well, keep that superior example from letting him try the curry," Harry said, flopping onto the couch and switching on the telly. A large whale shark appeared on the screen, and Theo's attention was instantly captured. As long as it kept Theo occupied while they ate dinner, Harry didn't mind that he was getting fingerprints all over the TV.

….

With all the grace of a toddler, Theo fell asleep sprawled out on the living room floor. He was on a foam play mat and surrounded by two stuffed monkeys and a toy train set, which Minerva had charmed to look like the Hogwarts express. His hair, which had been a strong black colour earlier in the evening, had returned to its original dirty brown in his sleep.

"He looks like Remus when he sleeps like that," Harry said, standing up from his chair and stretching. Cartons of curry takeaway were scattered on the coffee table, along with two mugs of mostly empty beer.

"He is Lupin's son," Snape reasoned, looking at the bare strip of midriff skin that was exposed as Harry stretched. "Though yours now as well. I've yet to see him without green eyes."

"I actually took him to a healer about that," Harry said, leaning over to scoop Theo up. "I adopted him when he was two or three months old, and the healer said babies' eyes don't usually get their true colour until they're six months to a year old. Something about melanin in the iris, I'm not really sure. But metamorphmagi have choice in their features, and his eyes were always green like mine when I first brought him home. The healer figures it's permanent now."

Theo pouted a little in Harry's arms, but Harry murmured nonsense to him and he settled. Snape was starting to get that 'you are a curious experiment' look on his face, so Harry cuddled Theo tighter.

"I'll just put him down, then," Harry said, quickly leaving the room.

When he got back to the living room, Snape had replenished the beer, filled a plate with seconds, and found another shark show on the telly. Instead of sitting in his own chair, Harry plunked down beside Snape on the couch and put his feet up.

"If you start requiring snuggling like some sort of teenage girl, the deal is off," Snape warned, permitting the closeness o Harry next to him anyway.

"Severus Snape, mood killer extraordinaire," Harry laughed, nearly snorting his beer.

"You don't have moods," Snape responded, leaning back against the couch, his legs against Harry's.

"Not really, no," Harry agreed good-naturedly. A close up of a shark's snapping jaw around a surfboard flashed on the screen and Harry flinched.

"Ah," Snape smirked knowingly, putting his arm up along the couch behind Harry's head. "Afraid of sharks."

"Shut up," Harry muttered.

...

Snape lay relaxed on the bed, in his sleep trousers and holding a book. It was another of the mass-market fiction paperbacks from Harry's bedside table. His feet were crossed, the baby monitor was blinking slowly from the table, and the curtains were drawn.

Harry stood at the door to the closet, looking out into the room. Snape had never said when he'd expected reciprocation, but it had been weighing in the back of Harry's mind all day and he wanted to complete the task.

Looking down at his skin-tight boxers, which were trim and flat, Harry nearly decided to abort his plans. He ran his finger along the seam of the doorframe, rubbing against a stray streak of paint that didn't quite match. Snape continued reading in bed, seemingly unaware that Harry was studying him.

Snape's long legs were stretched out on the table, seemingly thinner than the average male's, with surprisingly slender feet. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and even though he was slightly slouched against the headboard of the bed, Snape's stomach was mostly trim. His chest was surprisingly light on chest hair, and he had ordinary brown nipples like Harry. Harry's chest was covered in more hair, including a darker treasure trail than Snape, and he wondered if the larger amount of hair was considered less attractive. Or maybe it was manlier, and maybe Snape preferred that. Harry shook his head, wondering if he could even go through with pleasing the man if Harry didn't feel the slightest arousal from looking at him.

It was funny, Harry reflected, that he could remember quite clearly as a four or five year old, sitting in the Dursleys' car on the motorway and considering himself brilliant for deducing that mothers took a blue tablet when they wanted to have a baby boy, and a pink tablet for a baby girl. That made perfect sense to his child's logic, about as much sense as a few years later thinking that people woke each other up in the middle of the night for sex, instead of doing the act before they went to sleep.

Tapping his finger against the doorframe to shake himself out of stalling, Harry made his decision and walked into the room.

"Severus," Harry said, clearing his throat and trying to appear nonchalant as he walked into his own bedroom in just his pants.

Snape lowered his book slightly, looking at Harry through surprisingly stylish and thin-framed spectacles.

Harry moved to the bed, lightly climbing on it and perching on his knees. He sat back onto his heels, sucking in his stomach reflexively in slight embarrassment. Placing his hand slowly on Snape's thigh, Harry slid his fingers upward, dipping slightly to the inside of Snape's leg.

Snape widened his legs ever so slightly, and keeping eye contact with Harry, closed the book he was reading.

Harry's focus was on his own fingers, though, as he leaned further forward and they moved up Snape's thigh. His forefinger, slightly calloused from working around the house, snagged slightly against Snape's trousers and caused the material to bunch. By the time Harry had reached the junction of Snape's thigh and hip, the material of Snape's trousers had started to shift at the groin.

"I don't think I can go all the way to fellatio tonight," Harry said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper. His hand traced lightly over Snape's stomach, and up the hair trail to Snape's navel. It was quite obvious now that Snape was half hard, and Harry found it rather unbelievable that just the movement of his finger had caused that.

"You'll let me know if I do something wrong?"

Snape's hand reached out, his fingertips touching lightly under Harry's chin and drawing his attention back up to Snape's face.

"With pleasure, as usual," Snape said, his low voice sounding slightly different than normal. Perhaps hormones, Harry thought.

Harry gave a mock amused smirk to Snape, and calling on his courage, indicated for Snape to remove his trousers. They were banished with a flick of Snape's wand, and as Harry blinked at the heavy cock that was now exposed, Snape cast a few cleaning spells on himself.

Harry took a steadying breath, before reaching out and touching Snape again. He was inordinately glad that Snape was male and had the exact same parts as Harry, so Harry had some experience from his own infrequent forays into masturbation for reference. Snape was thicker than Harry though, and while it wasn't enough to fully detract from the experience, it was enough that Harry had to experiment with different grips.

Once he'd gotten accustomed to touching Snape, Harry realized that giving a hand job was really just like masturbating, from a different angle. He relaxed slightly, knowing that he was proficient enough at this to chase away his own orgasms, and would at least do a sufficient job for Snape. He was rather glad to note that Snape seemed to be a silent sexual partner, as Harry was quite certain any desperate words or moans would have likely sent him snickering.

Remembering (rather vividly) the events of the night before, Harry looked down at the glistening bead of pre-come welled up in Snape's foreskin. The rubbing motion Harry was providing seemed to spread it around the head, and Harry became curious to the taste. Noticing that Snape's eyes were closed, and that he'd probably be very receptive to Harry's willingness to try, Harry leaned over and took a tentative lick.

Not a very pleasant taste, saltier than he'd imagined it to be and rather musky. But the way Snape's hips had bucked had told Harry that the blowjob was very much welcome. Deciding that once he'd started that he'd may as well finish, especially if he wanted Snape to seriously consider staying with him, Harry moved over to kneel between Snape's legs.

He knew his technique was rubbish. Harry figured just holding on and licking was pleasant for Snape, but not mind blowing, yet it was the best he could do for his first time. He was rather grateful that he became used to the taste, as it made it easier to try different movements to his tongue. There were less thoughts of 'you're sucking a bloke," running through Harry's head.

After a few minutes, though it felt like twenty for Harry, his hair was lightly pulled and his attention directed towards Snape's dilated eyes and flushed cheeks. Snape didn't say anything, but put Harry's hand in his own, showing him exactly what sort of pressure and direction he liked. Harry kept on, feeling powerful as each stroke he completed seemed to untie Snape a little more. Finally the man stiffened, spurting onto his stomach and Harry's hand.

Snape's semen wasn't as thick as his own, was Harry's first thought as he sat back. Snape's cock had been twitching under his hand, and Harry let go as he remembered that post-orgasm was sometimes very sensitive.

"Not as good as you've likely had before," Harry said, trying to shrug off his performance anxiety. He scratched the side of his arm, fascinated by Snape's softening penis, and the fact that Snape didn't seem to be concerned about the come splattered on his chest.

"Do I appear like the type of man to be receiving a plethora of offers?" Snape asked, sounding sated and pleased.

"I don't think I'm the best judge of that," Harry said, his lips twitching into a smile. He'd brought a wet towel from the washroom after he'd brushed his teeth, and handed it over to Snape. Feeling satisfied with his first performance, as it were, Harry stretched out on his back on the bed.

"That was alright. I think I could do that on a regular basis," Harry said, sounding confident. He turned his head at Snape's snort. "What?"

"Are you aware of what full homosexual intercourse involves?"

"Yes," Harry said, his face tingeing red. "Are you a bottom or a top?"

Snape had a twisted smirk on his face as he sat up to summon some plain black y-fronts.

"An equal opportunist," Snape replied.

"Oh," Harry said. His hand was idly resting on his hip, in the natural crease of his leg. "So, you'll want both."

Snape finished putting his underpants on and slipped back into bed, folding himself into the sheets.

"I have ways of getting you hard enough to accomplish either task," Snape commented, sounding rather sure of himself. After the blowjob the night before, Harry was quite certain Snape wasn't lying.

"Oh, that's err. Good yeah."

Harry threw the wash towel in the general direction of the laundry hamper and wrapped himself in his half of the covers, relieved that Snape didn't seem to want to bring him off again.

"You weren't turned on?" Snape asked, plunging the room into darkness with his wand.

"No," Harry quietly responded. He felt like it was perhaps an insult to Snape that he wasn't, but the evidence in his boxers was rather clear. Or lack of evidence, to be precise.

"You do realise there is nothing wrong with that?" Snape asked.

Harry twisted around on the bed, flipping over to his stomach.

"I thought you'd want to reciprocate," Harry said, talking into his pillow.

"No. I much prefer to be selfish," Snape said, his voice sounding like this was a great personality trait to have. Harry laughed into his pillow.

Harry felt the bed shift, and shortly after felt Snape's warm hand settle on his back. Snape seemed to prefer to sleep in the recovery position, and didn't much like to cuddle.

"There will be no keeping tally in this relationship, Harry," Snape's sleepy voice stated a moment later.

This was only the second night he'd shared a bed with Snape, and Harry quite enjoyed how Snape seemed to put his sarcastic persona aside. It was almost as if the bed was off limits to insults.

"I shall not force you to receive pleasure. The suggested parameters of our agreement are for twice a week, and while I would like you to be involved, it would be rather dutiful to require you to orgasm after more single-focus activities."

Harry reached out and touched Snape's warm arm, scooting himself a bit closer so that he rested against Snape's warm skin.

"I think you're possibly the only person who wouldn't expect anything else."

Harry yawned, snuggling into his pillow and closing his eyes. He could feel Snape's fingers at the bottom of his neck, scratching softly through his hair, and smiled. It was almost as like Snape was a cat. Stubborn, independent, with a distinctive personality during the day, but in want of a calm scratch at night.

"Hey, what was that spell you used to banish your trews?" Harry asked, raising his head sleepily.

"Depulso" Snape responded, a lazy smirk sounding in his voice.

"What? Isn't that just the regular banishing spell?" Harry said, looking blindly in the dark at Snape.

"Ten points," Snape said, nudging Harry's head back down onto the pillow.

"You taught a clothing-banishing spell at a boarding school with teenagers?"

"Teenagers wearing uniforms that cannot be banished," Snape finished, stretching his feet out at the end of the bed.

"…fair play," Harry said, a bit gobsmacked that it had never even occurred to him that Hogwarts uniforms would have such protective charms on them.

….

"Na na na na na na na na," Theo hummed, carrying a red ball around the kitchen.

"Batman," Harry muttered, under his breath.

Wednesday morning had started sunny, an unexpected and very welcome surprise. Harry was making a morning salad for breakfast, and planned on taking Theo to the Burrow later. One small job had arrived from the Met, a case involving a family disputing over historic monies found in an old safe, and Harry wasn't due into New Scotland Yard until eleven at the earliest.

"Good morning," Harry said, as Snape walked into the kitchen.

"Ball!" Theo called, launching it at Snape. The ball bounced off the wall near Snape's face, seconds after Snape had pulled his wand at the perceived threat. Over by the table, Theo dissolved into giggles.

"There is something wrong with that boy," Snape grumbled, nudging the ball back to Theo with his foot.

"He's sixteen months old," Harry explained, setting toast and the teapot on the table. "Everything is a game."

"Ball!" Theo announced again, aiming the ball at Snape and missing completely.

"Come here, Theodore," Snape grumbled, crooking his finger in a 'come here' action. Theo, for some reason, didn't see Snape as any sort of threat and toddled over. Harry had just finished setting up a bowl of cheerios for Theo when he turned around and stopped. Theo was sitting on Snape's lap, and together they were looking over the _Daily Prophet_ from the day before, Snape scowling at the front page and Theo trying to mimic him.

"Ludovic Bagman," Snape said, pointing at one of the smaller photos under the fold on the front page. "Hufflepuff, beater, reasonably smart before he met the wrong end of a bludger too many times." Theo pointed at the paper as well, trying to poke Ludo's picture into doing something.

"Want to share Severus' salad, Theo?" asked Harry, putting the cheerios beside Snape's plate.

The salad was just spinach mixed with strawberries and almond slivers, something light and healthy that he knew Theo would like. Theo hadn't eaten almonds before, so Harry was sure they'd be ignored, but he knew Snape's strawberries would be stolen.

"Yep!" Theo agreed, holding his hand out for his toddler fork.

Just after Harry had sat down to start his own breakfast, an owl circled above the back garden. Harry waited as the wards checked the delivery, before opening the window to let the paper delivery in.

"Ahh bloody hell," Harry exhaled, covering his mouth with his hand to stop himself from laughing.

"Daddy," Theo pointed across the table, looking up as if to make sure Snape knew who Harry was.

Harry spoke before Snape got the chance, reading directly from the paper.

_And Baby Makes Three?_

_Yesterday at the Ministry of Magic both Harry Potter and Severus Snape were seen exiting Courtroom Nine, where a case against attempted murderer Amos Diggory was heard concerning charges covering an attack on the Chosen One and misuse of muggle artefacts. Diggory's son, Cedric, was killed by a Death Eater at the final competition of Hogwarts' Tri-Wizard tournament in 1995, and he was cited as saying revenge was his reasoning for all of his actions._

_Harry Potter, who has made himself rather sparse since the ending of the great wizarding war, was looking older, slightly scruffier, and dressed in a manner that suggest his jeans and t-shirt days are over._

"My t-shirt and jean...I was a bloody teenager," Harry said, in mock outrage.

"Keep reading, no side comments," Snape said, waving his hand to keep Theo from stealing a strawberry.

"Umm," Theo insisted, grabbing for it anyway.

"Oh all right, you're in here too," Harry muttered, looking for the spot he'd stopped at.

_After the trial, Mr Potter returned home and then out for a walk with his adopted son in an affluent London neighbourhood, accompanied again by Severus Snape. Potions Master Severus Snape, as many of the younger generation know, is a very strict and nasty tempered former professor and headmaster of Hogwarts, in addition to having a very chequered past as a former Death Eater spy. Nonetheless, and regardless of the fact that Harry Potter once witnessed Professor Snape murder the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the two appeared quite chummy in the park. Professor Snape even played with Potter's son; leading one to wonder just how much time they spend together._

"Dreadful editing," Snape scoffed, holding up a strawberry for Theo to take a bite of. "It was more euthanasia than murder."

"He's going to be very messy," Harry warned, nodding at Theo. "And it's written by Lavender Brown. I don't think you were ever her favourite professor."

_Is Harry Potter still single? Nothing conclusive can be made of the photos, and neither Snape nor Potter were overly close in the muggle park. But be warned, fellow witches, your days of winning Harry Potter over just may be numbered!_

"Oh, alright, really?" Harry sarcastically said, spreading the paper out on the table to look at the other articles.

"Me! Me me me!" Theo cheered, pointing to the picture of them at the park and smudging strawberry juice all over the print.

…

Ron showed up at the house just after five, for their customary Wednesday afternoon paintball game. Harry, who'd spent most of the afternoon in a windowless office looking over old money, was rather itching to get out. He had some steam to let off still from Monday night's scuffle, and today was the day that he and Snape would decide on their trial relationship. Harry was a bit nervous about that, as he didn't like the idea of being the only adult again in the house.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, shoving another tub of paintballs into his bag. "Come on, we'll be late!"

"No we won't," Ron scoffed, stepping out the washroom. He was wearing muggle army fatigues, and his paintball gun was on the table.

"You sure you can leave the monkey with Snape?" Ron asked, messing up Theo's dark green hair as Theo tried to open the fridge.

"Trust me, he's fine. Snape resisted the urge to harm me as a student, and Theo actually likes him."

Footsteps sounded from the cellar door just as Ron leaned over to whisper a secret to Theo. "You're crazy if you think you can tame him."

"Why are you still here?" Snape demanded, his face cross, but his lips twitching into a small smile for Theo.

"Yeah, yeah, we're going," Harry said, waving him off. "Meet you there, Ron?"

"You got it," Ron said, disapparating as he finished his sentence.

Harry walked over to kiss Theo on the top of the little boy's head, before standing beside Snape.

"See you later, and thanks for watching him," Harry said, his hand squeezing lightly around Snape's bicep. He leaned up awkwardly, and after a long hesitation, kissed Snape at the side of his neck. It was warm, Snape's hair was down, and his neck was remarkably soft despite the scars.

"Bye," Harry said, fighting his natural inclination to blush

...

So Ron," Harry said, ducking a neon yellow coloured paintball that seconds later splattered on some corrugated metal sheeting above his head. "Are you doing anything Saturday?"

Ron stood up, raising his head just enough to see over the wooden bunker they were hiding behind.

"Don't think so," Ron answered, firing a shot at a muggle who was darting between bunkers. Harry watched as the blue paintball curved after the player and hit him.

"Did you _charm_ the paintballs?" Harry asked, lowering his aim for a moment.

"I didn't," Ron protested. "They're a new Weasley product. Fred calls 'em Blue Shells."

"'Course he does," Harry muttered. Harry kneeled beside Ron, using the same gap in the bunker to aim his shot from. "How's Ginny liking Wales?"

They both aimed at the same time and took out a player who'd been whooping war cries to unsettle newer paint ballers.

"Loves it so far, and she's dating some bloke on the farm team for the Caerphilly Catapults."

Both Ron and Harry ducked as a barrage of red and orange paintballs headed their way.

"Wanted me to tell you that the photo of you and Snape is cute," Ron added, failing to completely stifle his laughter.

"Balls to that," Harry said. "Lavender Brown sent a reporter after me, and you remember what she's like."

"Maybe, but that cosy little family photo wasn't faked," Ron teased, turning his head to listen to the yelling out in the open arena.

Harry swung his arm around and shot Ron in the thigh.

"OW, dammit Potter!"

"Looks like you're out this round, Weasley," Harry smirked.

Ron used magic to banish the paint though, leaving himself in the game.

"Some friend you are," Ron muttered. Harry figured Ron would likely pay back the shot much later, when Harry wasn't expecting it. "I'll have a bruise for days."

"I'm sure Hermione will take care of you," Harry dryly commented.

"What are you planning for Saturday?" Ron asked, not commenting on Hermione.

"Just a back yard barbecue," Harry shrugged, trying to sound natural about it.

"Snape'll be there?" Ron asked, scrutinizing Harry.

"He lives there," Harry reminded. "And the barbecue is sort of for him."

"Really," Ron said, his eyes widening just the tiniest bit.

"Yeah, well, he starts his new job on Monday, and I don't get the feeling anyone has celebrated any of his accomplishments bef- wipe that look off your face Weasley before we test how fast a paintball bruises your arse," Harry threatened. Instead of sticking around though, Ron disapparated with a laugh.

….

Harry went through his normal pre-bed routine, walking down the hall to his bedroom in his boxers. It was a bit odd to have Snape already in the room, waiting for him, but Harry found he rather liked the company. After a childhood of sleeping alone in a cupboard, it was almost like having his own personal protection there with him while he slept.

"So, err, all your stuff planned for the job on Monday?"

"Yes," Snape said, giving Harry a funny look. "Tomorrow I have an appointment at Gladrags."

"Oh! That's brilliant, yeah," Harry said, making a mental note to Floo call them and offer to pay for most of Snape's robes. "Maybe something less dark.."

Harry trailed off as he saw the 'You must be stupid look' Snape was giving him.

"Or black. Black's good too."

"About your experiment," Snape started, ignoring the remarks about his wardrobe.

"Yeah, I had...did you enjoy it?"

"I should think you're more the one with the restriction," Snape replied, amused.

"I liked it, yeah. And it wouldn't be permanent, of course, just in case we change our minds much later."

"Why, Harry?" Snape simply stated, sitting back on the bed and observing. He was looking completely at ease in Harry's room, as if it had been partially his all along.

"I told you," Harry said, holding his dress shirt up for inspection. Tomorrow he'd have to return to New Scotland Yard to get further information on his newest case. "I've very little interest in sex, but I still want to have a partner that I can joke with, count on, trust, respect, and lean on when I need to. You're one of the only people, not including Hermione and the Weasleys, who knows nearly everything about me."

Snape gave him a considering look.

"You know me and you've never once gone to press about it. I don't want to have to explain to someone that I'm not broken and I don't want sex all the time. I'm...comfortable with you."

"And you believe I have the same conclusions? That I will have little luck finding my own partner on my own?" Snape asked, his voice emotionless.

"I've no idea," Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Would it be easier to just settle with me? You'd still get some sex, a nice house to live in, and I don't mind funding some potion equipment."

Snape ignored that, or seemed to, and stood up to remove his trousers.

"You're comfortable with me," he repeated, his back to Harry. "Even though you've tried to curse me more than once."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Harry cheerfully explained, hopping one foot as he shook off his sock. "Some days I want to sell you to the mob. But you've been such a constant in my life; I can't really imagine trusting myself or Theo with anyone else."

Snape turned around and looked at Harry, his black eyes soft and searching. Satisfied with whatever he'd found in Harry's body language, as Harry stood in only boxers and an undershirt, Snape strode forward to stand in front of Harry.

"You will find, Harry Potter," Snape said in a voice that Harry thought was probably meant to be seductive. "That I have similar reasons for choosing this relationship as well."

Snape kissed Harry once, a strong kiss that ended just before Harry became uncomfortable. It was followed by a flop on the bed, and with the exception of Snape's warm arm brushing ever so slightly against Harry's side, no other touching.

"So you're in?" Harry said, talking to the dark.

"Obviously," came Snape's answer, drawn out and in a tone that suggested he was rolling his eyes as well.

Harry was entirely certain he'd not be able to take the smile off his face as he fell asleep. After eight years in a wizarding world where everyone had demanded him to play the hero and fight for them, he was settling with someone who actually respected his private wishes and personal quirks.

…

Planning the party for Saturday, Harry decided to take Snape with him for groceries on Friday afternoon. He thought this would be smart, as he'd have better odds of purchasing the sort of foods that Snape liked, foods that weren't a necessity as much as a treat. Harry hadn't banked on Snape's running commentary during the entire trip.

"She's been flirting with you for five minutes," Snape said, dropping tinned peas in the shopping cart.

"She what?" Harry asked, whipping his head around to look at a thin blonde girl. "Rubbish, she was talking to Theo."

"Two galleons," Snape said, raising his eyebrow at Harry.

"Fine," Harry challenged back. He furrowed his brows in confusion as Snape took over the trolley, and sent him to get some tomatoes.

"Get ones big enough to fit in the cup of your hand," Snape oddly requested.

"Whatever," Harry said, stalking over to the tomato bin and picking up ones he thought were big enough. He cupped them in his hand, holding them up to see that they fit well. In no time the girl had found her way over to the same section, nudging herself up against the display of green peppers.

"Your little brother is cute," the girl said, reaching across the entire bin of tomatoes for one in the top corner. Harry thought it was rather ridiculous, as there were perfectly good tomatoes at the closer end of the bin.

"That's my son, actually," Harry corrected. He could see Theo sitting in the trolley, jabbering to Snape.

"Really?" the girl said, looking at Harry in surprise. "I didn't think you were that old."

"I'm nineteen," Harry said, with a casual shrug. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that he was out two galleons.

"I'm Polly," the girl responded, flashing Harry a smile full of bright, white, perfectly aligned teeth.

Over by the fresh juice section, Snape leaned onto the push handle of the trolley to whisper conspirationally to Theo. Theo, who still enjoyed grabbing at things, tried to scrunch his fingers through Snape's longer hair.

"Your father is a completely oblivious dunderhead," Snape said, twisting his head to avoid Theo's fingers.

"Dada," Theo giggled, wrapping his arms around himself and grinning.

"Yes, I suppose he is rather endearing," Snape offhandedly remarked, giving a soft look across the produce to Harry. He'd often found the flustered look on Harry Potter's face to be a mixture of exasperating and…something else. Before long, Harry quickly made his way back to the trolley.

"Here's your two bloody galleons," Harry grumbled, digging the coins out his pocket.

"What's that scrap of paper there?" Snape asked, his eyes spotting it easily after years of teaching students who tried to hide notes.

"Just some random numbers."

...

Friday afternoon saw Harry bored. He'd been through all his work files, written up the beginnings of a report for the forged old money case, and washed all the windows in the kitchen. It was pouring down rain, and he couldn't even go for a walk, because Theo was taking an afternoon nap. Well, he could go for a walk, and just ask Snape to watch Theo, but Harry didn't feel any urge to get soaked.

Deciding he'd go see what Snape was up to, Harry clipped the baby monitor to his back jeans pocket and headed upstairs. Snape was in his front room, sorting through boxes of books that appeared to be a mixture of both muggle and magic.

"Hi," Harry said, plunking himself down and picking up the top book. The cover was a picture of the Vitruvian Man, with the add-on of a tail.

"Bored, Mr Potter?" Snape asked, in his best teaching voice.

"Yes, actually. There's not even lightning to watch," Harry answered, flipping through the book. Some images inside were of rather grotesque partial-transformations. Snape didn't answer him, so Harry looked up after a moment's silence and caught the studying gleam in Snape's eyes. "What?"

"I have an experiment I'd like to conduct," Snape said, replacing the pile of books on his lap to the couch.

"What kind of experiment?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.

"Basic biology," Snape answered immediately. "I have concluded that regardless of your asexuality you can be aroused by touch..."

"Because of it," Harry interrupted.

"Don't interrupt. But I have yet to determine if you can maintain an erection long enough for intercourse."

"I don't, er. That is, I'm a virgin," Harry stuttered, focusing on the book at not looking up at Snape.

"I am aware," Snape responded. His voice held no scorn in it though, and when Harry made eye contact, Snape looked more pleased with the fact than ready to tease Harry about it.

"All right, then," Harry agreed softly.

…

Harry, feeling incredibly exposed and rather nervous, lay on his stomach on Snape's bed. The bed was softer than his own, slightly smaller, and had the very slight smell of Snape's after-shave still on the pillows. He could hear Snape walking around behind him, and no longer could resist the urge to turn around. Snape was fetching items from the dresser, walking about completely in the nude and seemingly not to care that his bits were on display. Harry turned his head back to the pillow as he felt Snape's hand at the base of his back, and tried to relax as he heard two spells murmured.

"Wait, I thought - "

"It will be me," Snape said, his fingers lightly massaging Harry's backside and his voice very low. "I should like you to experience some of the fun."

Harry was about to reply when he felt his cheeks being spread and his mind going blank. What, exactly, was he supposed to say to his former professor that was looking at him right _there_? Harry then felt how strong and dexterous Snape's tongue was though, and the point became rather moot.

"Oh, that's so...ooh. Wrong," Harry said, sighing into the pillow. His mind kept screaming at him to be embarrassed and squiggle away, but Harry had never become hard that fast before, not that he could ever remember.

"Why...ahhh," this time Harry did squirm, wriggling slightly up the bed.

"Too close?" Snape asked, and Harry could just hear the smirk in his voice.

"I've never been this hard," Harry confessed, unable to imagine anything that would cause this type of reaction by his body. "You'd better, lie down, or move, or whatever quickly before I lose it."

Harry squirmed again as he felt a strong thumb massaging him, an utterly bizarre feeling but not altogether unwelcome. In as much time as it took Harry to catch his breath, Snape had stretched out on his stomach beside Harry.

"I assume you're at least familiar with condom usage," Snape said, resting his head on his crossed arms as if he were preparing for just a massage.

"Yes," Harry muttered, fumbling open the package. He was glad Snape had provided one, as the idea of sticking his penis in someone's bum wasn't all together appealing. If he didn't think about Snape's own tongue being there, he wouldn't lose the erection he'd gained from the feeling either.

"Now, Harry. I've prepared myself."

"Euw," Harry said, picturing what that involved. He had read a book on gay sex, and was still of the opinion that fingers belonged outside of the body. Snape hadn't lied though, and it only took a medium amount of effort for Harry to nudge in. Nothing he'd read had come close to the feeling that he was experiencing, and Harry's fingers trembled as he tried to remain slowly in control. Snape didn't seem to have the same patience though, and his muscles moved in ways Harry thought ought to have been illegal.

"P-p-pause," Harry said, closing his eyes tightly.

"You get thirty seconds to adjust, Potter," Snape said, his voice strained and jaw clenched. "After that I expect a fucking so hard I see lightning bolts when you come."

Harry blinked his eyes in surprise at Snape's language, his body coming back from the brink of orgasm.

"Is that even poss –"

"Potter!"

"Right!" Harry blurted, snapping his hips and pretending he was practising a new quidditch move he'd invented.

….

Theo's favourite outfit was a pair of storm blue cargo shorts and a forest green shirt with white edged sleeves. It of course had a picture of a monkey on it, and matched his blue monkey bucket hat that Harry had gotten him at the beginning of the summer.

Harry made sure to dress Theo in that outfit on Saturday, including the hat to protect against the sun. The rain hadn't returned, and Theo was gleeful to be playing in the back garden again.

"Your son is eating dirt," Snape informed Harry, sticking his head into the kitchen.

"Don't let him," Harry replied, exasperated as he looked at Snape. Snape, who was still wearing long trousers (grey, instead of black), but had switched out the long sleeved cream shirt for a blue thin striped one with the sleeves rolled up.

Harry was still preparing a salad for dinner, having already set the plate of hamburgers by the barbecue, when his friends arrived.

"Harry!" Hermione greeted, apparating neatly into the kitchen. Ron followed closely behind, carrying a beat up notebook that resembled the science homework that had been due the day before.

"Thanks for the wine, Hermione," Harry said, giving his best friends a one-armed hug.

"It's not for you," Hermione promptly informed him. "Ron brought you beer."

"Yes, yes I did," Ron said, grinning.

"Theo's outside, if you want to go entertain him. I'll be out in a minute," Harry said, crunching on a carrot and feeling content.

Harry stepped out with the bowl of salad a few moments later, watching with amusement as Ron tried to teach Theo how to pick up the ball with his monkey tail.

"A useful skill, if he becomes an animagus," Snape observed, standing by the barbecue.

"Yeah, it would be," Harry considered.

Minerva, who was sitting at the patio table, animated the ball so that it zig-zagged away from Theo.

"That's cheating, that is!" Ron said, trying to keep Theo from tripping on the grass as he chased the ball.

"I'm not sure which one is more entertaining to watch," Harry confessed quietly, catching Snape's smirk out of the corner of his eye.

The hamburgers were finished in short order, and Harry discovered that Snape apparently had a hidden talent as a barbecue griller. He nearly snorted beer out his nose at the face Ron made as Snape was dressing up his lunch. Ron, the man who would eat almost anything at Hogwarts, scrunching his face at Snape's application of peanut butter to the burger.

"It's all in the oils, Mr Weasley," Snape said, making a show of eating his hamburger. Minerva merely shook her head and dabbed at her lips with her napkin, signifying to Harry that Snape's eating habits probably came up often as conversation at the staff dining table.

"Stop making that face, Ron," Hermione admonished. "So what's the celebration then, Harry?"

She'd had quite a bit of her wine, shared with Minerva, and Harry was a bit hesitant and wanting to know what either of them had been talking about.

"If you'll wait a moment – Ron, come help," Harry said, standing up. He nipped into the kitchen, Ron following behind, and tore the invisibility cloak off the cake he'd gotten.

"Congratulations on your job, Severus," Ron read, twisting his head to read all the tiny letters.

"The lady at the shop made me confirm the name three times," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Greasy git wouldn't have fit then, eh?"

"Ron..." Harry warned.

"I'm allowed to tease. Looks like he'll be around for a while," Ron said, crossing his arms and trying to look intimidating. He was also looking at Harry for confirmation, and after letting his shoulders down, Harry gave a small smile. "Yeah, afraid so."

"Thought so," Ron said, smiling like he was about to take checkmate. "Hermione'll be jealous I figured it out first."

"As long as you weren't betting on it," Harry warned, fetching a large knife to cut the cake with.

"Nah, I only bet on the Cannons. What kind of cake?"

"I don't know what it's called, but it's chocolate and has a raspberry jam-like filling in it. Severus said one day that he really liked chocolate and raspberries."

"Too much information," Ron grimaced.

Harry picked up the cake and headed for the door, a confused look on his face.

"What? He was talking about ice cream, what's wrong with that?"

Ron, carrying the plates, forks, and an extra bib, rolled his eyes.

"Nothing, Harry. Nothing at all."

...  
Theo made an absolute mess of the cake. He ended up with chocolate in his hair, jam on his nose, and icing all over his shirt. He was giggling and chattering to everyone though, hamming it up for the camera Hermione had brought. Snape was quieter; sitting at the end of the table and neatly cutting away at his cake, seeming to savour the slice he had. Harry had not missed the look of surprise and appreciation on Snape's face as he brought the cake out, and he vowed to corner Aunt Minerva later to find out when Snape's birthday was.

The weather stayed fairly pleasant, and Harry closed his eyes as he sat back into his deck chair. Theo, to his right, had been let out the high chair and was chasing a butterfly around the garden with Minerva. Ron and Hermione were in a ferocious debate with Snape, over the use of some sort of household cleaner as an animal deterrent for the garden. Ron was pro use, Hermione anti, and Snape seemed to think it should be used on students as well.

Harry heard the muted sound of the phone ringing, coming from the open window of his study. Likely another job, but perhaps for a different bank. Another puzzle for him to be paid to solve.

"Daddy!" Theo shrieked, running up to Harry's chair. He was holding a small grass snake in his hand, which seemed to be lazily enjoying the ride. "Sake!"

Harry noticed that Theo had transformed his tongue into a forked snake one.

"I see! And it's a pretty green one too!" Harry said, relieved that the snake seemed to think Theo was no threat at all. "Don't bite him," Harry hissed in parseltongue.

Theo seemed to think this was funny, and tried hissing at the snake himself.

"Go show Severus what you caught, Theo," Harry suggested.

A grin broke out on Theo's face and he ran awkwardly toward the other end of the deck, holding up his hand.

"Papa!" Theo called, nearly crashing into Snape and thrusting his little green capture forward. "Sake!"

Snape raised his eyebrow at Harry, seemingly slightly uncomfortable to be called Papa in front of Ron, Hermione, and Minerva. Harry lazily waved his arm though; prompting Snape to kneel down and inspect the snake Theo had caught.

Snape still seemed very aware of the others standing by him, but Harry figured he'd have years to get used to being called Papa.

...

Fin.


End file.
